


A Time to Fall

by dimerization



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: (honestly it's more like canon with benefits but whatever), AU where Pedro Pascal voices Corvo Attano, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Dishonored 2, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Local sad DILF Corvo Attano gets the MILF gf he always deserved, Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, PLOT EMPTY ONLY YEARNING, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, no betas we die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimerization/pseuds/dimerization
Summary: With a coup underway and his daughter imprisoned in stone, Corvo has fled to Karnaca in search of the truth behind Delilah's rise to power.  Things aren't supposed to go wrong.  He's not supposed to get hurt.  And he's definitely not supposed to fall in love.It could probably be going worse, though.  Right?---Dishonored 2 AU.  Severely injured, Corvo is rescued by a citizen of Karnaca who nurses him back to health.  It's pretty much all downhill from there.
Relationships: Corvo Attano & Billie Lurk | Meagan Foster, Corvo Attano/Original Female Character(s), Past Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from [The Parting Glass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0lD6y-R6yc), which I had stuck in my head while I was writing the whole entire first draft of this. 
> 
> The first draft is written, but not fully revised. I'm planning to update this at least once a week, hopefully more frequently. Current revision is about 38k; I'm expecting to top out between 40 and 50k, but 40k was my previous maximum estimate soooo... pray for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few language-related notes:  
> Sra. = Señora  
> Sr. = Señor  
> Dra. = Doctora (feminine of Doctor)
> 
> I realize they were going for a more Greek/Italian vibe with Serkonos, but I don't speak Greek or Italian and I do speak Spanish, so that's what I'm doing in this story.
> 
> Warning for fairly graphic depictions of torture in this chapter. Corvo has a nightmare about Coldridge; skip over the big italicized section if you don't want to read it.

Getting out of Addermire was a near thing. Corvo had to rely on his magic more than he liked, unable to move quickly under his own power with the deep lacerations the Crown Killer had inflicted on his thigh. She’d slashed his arm up pretty good too, before he’d gotten the serum into her. He supposed he could have stayed to patch himself up, but he could hear the guards looking for him, and it would have taken too long. Dr. Hypatia had been in no condition to offer any assistance – staring up at him blankly, “Who are you?” _–_ Corvo wouldn’t have let her near a skinned knee in that condition, let alone his current state. So he’d Blinked his way back to the carriage with the last of his magic, bleeding sluggishly from his wounds even after taking his last elixir. He hoped Meagan had more. He hoped he made it back to Meagan at all. Fucking hell, he was too old for this.

He saw the ambush from the tracks. The City Watch had regrouped outside the carriage station, presumably following the trail of unconscious bodies he’d left on his way up. Corvo cursed himself for his carelessness. It had been fifteen years since he’d had to sneak past crowds of guards like this, and he was rusty. Being fucking old didn’t help, either. He had enough magic left for one more Blink, and if he was quick, careful, and lucky, maybe… The carriage was moving fast. He was out of time.

Corvo Blinked up onto the roof of the carriage station. It was the wrong choice.

“Look there!” a guard yelled.

“It’s him!”

“How – ?”

_“Fire!”_

Corvo tried to run. His wounded leg would not cooperate. The air around him howled with bullets. Something slammed into his hip and he staggered; the next impact, to his shoulder, knocked him clear off the roof. _Emily_ , he thought, as he fell, and fell, and fell.

* * *

There was a body on the rocks again. María peered at it through the gathering dusk. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be, but she didn’t see any bloodflies. _It should be safe enough,_ she thought, and went down the steps towards the water. She picked her way carefully over the rocks. It was a man, she thought, though it was hard to tell as he was lying facedown. He was wet and bloodied, dressed in dark blue. His clothes might have been fine once, before someone beat him up and dropped him off a pier. One wrist was bent at a painful-looking angle. He wasn’t moving. She reached out to touch his back and felt him take a breath. Her heart leapt.

Gently, she turned the man over, and yanked back at the sight of his face. _It’s a mask,_ she realized after a moment – a horrible death’s head wrought in dark metal. It seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Less than a minute of fiddling revealed the straps holding it in place, half-hidden under his sodden salt-and-pepper hair. She unfastened it carefully and shoved it into her basket, covering it with the mending work she carried with her. The unconscious man had a handsome profile, but his face was badly bruised.

“Sra. Montero?” María looked up at the quay behind her. One of the dockworkers stood there, hands in his pockets, peering at her anxiously.

“Hello, Jorge,” María said.

“Wouldn’t it be better to leave the bodies for the Watch, ma’am?” he asked. María flapped a hand at him.

“This one’s still breathing. Come and help me, young man.”

“You could still leave him for the Watch,” Jorge muttered, coming down the steps.

“I’m not leaving him here to die, Jorge. Come on.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jorge grumbled, and hoisted the unconscious man over his shoulder with a grunt.

María lead him through the twisting streets of the Campo Seta District, stopping at her own front door and digging in her pocket for the key. Nobody stopped them, although they did get some odd looks from the neighbors.

“Let’s get him inside,” María said.

* * *

She had to cut his clothes off him in the end. It was a shame, because the material was awfully nice. Her patient cut a fine figure even battered and unconscious, but his wounds were worse than she’d expected: two gunshots on his left side, deep slashes in his right arm and thigh, heavy bruising, and his left wrist was broken. He was still bleeding sluggishly, and his color was bad.

“What on earth have you been up to?” she muttered. Her best guess was that he was a Howler, although he seemed a little old for it. The victim of a hit, maybe? It was amazing he was still alive.

“Jorge!” María called. There was a bit of scuffling, and then the helpful young dockworker appeared in her workroom doorway.

“Ma’am?” he mumbled as politely as he could with a mouthful of dinner. He’d stopped complaining about helping her the second she’d offered to feed him.

“Send me Dra. Patel on your way home, would you?” Jorge swallowed hastily.

“You think he’ll live, ma’am?” He eyed the half-dead, entirely-naked man on the table dubiously.

“Maybe,” María said, picking up her kettle.

“Sra. Montero...”

“What is it, Jorge?”

“You sure this is safe? Look at him. He’s shot, stabbed. Someone’s after him, ma’am. What if they find him? What if they find out you helped him? Beg pardon, ma’am, I don’t meant to tell you your business, but I’d hate to see you hurt. ‘Specially over some strange noble.” Jorge stuck his hands in his pockets and stared unhappily at the floor. María put her hands on her hips. She’d known Jorge since he was a boy stealing hand-pies off her windowsill. Trust him to start talking back to her now.

“I am not leaving anyone to die for the sake of my own convenience, young man.”

“I’d just hate to see you hurt,” Jorge said again. “Tomás and Nadia would never – ”

“I _appreciate_ your concern, Jorge. Now go finish your dinner, and fetch me Dra. Patel!” Jorge sighed, nodded, and left the room.

Shaking her head, María filled a bowl with hot water from the kettle, then set to cleaning the stranger’s wounds. Jorge was a sweet boy, if a bit too well-meaning for his own good. María spared a moment to worry he might rat her out to the Watch, then dismissed the notion. He wasn’t that much of a busybody. Some of her neighbors on the other hand… Well. She’d burn that bridge when she got to it.

One benefit of being a seamstress was having plenty of undyed thread and clean linen about, María reflected, stitching the cuts on the strange man’s thigh. There were three of them, quite deep but not bleeding as much as she’d expected, even after being cleaned. It was odd, but she wasn’t complaining. She hadn’t given anyone stitches in some time, not since Tomás last…

A fortunate knock at the door saved her from that line of thought. María tied off her thread and went to answer it.

“Dra. Patel, come in! Thank you so much for coming.”

“María, you know you can call me Mindy,” the doctor admonished. She was a slim, black-eyed woman with warm ocher skin and a lilting accent. María flapped a hand at her and lead her back through the kitchen into her workroom.

“Sr. Vasquez was light on details, only said something about a – good heavens!” The doctor stopped in the doorway, momentarily shocked. “Who is that?”

“I found him down on the rocks by the quay,” María said. “He’s shot and I can’t tell if the bullets are still in there. Can you have a look?”

“You really have to stop doing that, María,” the doctor said.

“What, helping people?”

“No, picking over bodies you find. One of these days – ”

“Don’t you start. I’m not leaving people to die on the street for no reason.”

“María...” Dra. Patel looked at her sadly.

“Has he got any bullets in him or not?” María demanded. The doctor sighed.

“All right,” she said. “Help me turn him over.”

Working together, the two women got him stitched up. Mindy Patel extracted bullets from his shoulder and hip, then helped María with the bandages. The man was well-muscled but heavily scarred, especially on his arms, chest, and back. María found old cuts, the marks of what had to be a whip, and large burn scars that looked like nothing so much as a hot iron. This man was a fighter then, and he’d been tortured terribly. A hit was seeming more and more likely. She refused to worry about it.

Mindy picked up the man’s broken arm and paused.

“Hm,” she said.

“What?” said María.

“This tattoo. It’s… odd.” María peered over the doctor’s shoulder. There was a curious design tattooed on the back of his hand; she’d never seen it before.

“It looks familiar…” the doctor said. María couldn’t see the point in worrying over it.

“Let’s just set his wrist,” she said. The doctor sighed, then got to work. It was fortunate that he was unconscious, María thought as they set and splinted the break; it looked very bad. The splint and bandages on his hand covered most of the strange tattoo. María wondered what it meant. A gang sign, maybe? She’d never heard of a gang in Karnaca that wore tattoos like that.

“You know he may not live, María,” the doctor said, rinsing her hands. “He’s lost a lot of blood, and he’s not a young man. This may go badly.” María shrugged.

“What shall I do for his wounds?” she asked.

* * *

The first thing Corvo noticed was that he was warm. The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on something soft. The third thing he noticed was pain. He tried to move his left arm; it went _very_ poorly. Corvo opened his eyes with a groan.

He was in a small room with whitewashed walls. The floor was dark terracotta tile with a rather worn rag rug on it. He lay on a bed meant for someone shorter than he was; the sheets were soft linen, good quality but old and mended. Beside him were a bureau and a stool. There was a bowl on the floor with some rags in it.

_Where the fuck am I?_

There was a small window in the wall above the bed; he could see laundry flapping on a line, and a sliver of sky, and that was all. He looked down at himself and realized with a start that he was naked except for his bandages, of which there were many. Gingerly, Corvo tried to move - his right arm this time, which went a little better, but he was terrifyingly weak. There were thick bandages wrapped around both his forearm and bicep, but no blood seeping through. He thought he felt the tug of stitches under the cloth wrapping. Shifting his right leg produced similar results, although he couldn’t see it under the sheet. His skin was clean, but he was covered in bruises that were just beginning to fade; the bandages, however, were clean and new.

So. He was alive. He had been bathed, and his wounds treated. How long had he been here? The last thing he remembered was falling from the carriage station into the sea. He eyed his left arm dubiously. His shoulder was heavily bandaged – he remembered being shot – but his wrist was also in a splint. Wiggling his fingers produced a wave of pain; Corvo gritted his teeth against it. He must have broken his arm when he fell. _Damn it._ He had to get back to Meagan. And that brought him back to his first question – where the fuck was he? Had he been captured? He had a hard time believing the Watch would treat him so well, let alone the Abbey. _Fucking shit,_ he thought _._ He was going to have to try to sit up, and it was going to be terrible. Corvo took a deep breath, and made his first attempt.

It was actually worse than he’d expected. He’d forgotten about getting shot in the hip. Corvo collapsed back onto the sheets with a grunt.

 _I’m too fucking old for this,_ he thought resentfully at the ceiling.

The door opened. Corvo’s instincts screamed for him to get to his feet, but that was simply not possible. He settled for looking.

A woman about his age stood in the doorway. Her curly black hair was streaked with gray, bound back in a loose braid and thrown over one shoulder. Her eyes were brown and weary, set in a face well-lined by many years in the Serkonan sun. She had the body of a woman who’d borne many children over the years, rather heavy in the belly, thigh, and breast, but still gently curved under her loose homespun shirt and trousers. She carried a kettle in one hand, and a bundle of clean cloth in the other. The woman met his eyes and smiled.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“Who are you?” Corvo asked. The woman came forward to sit on the stool, bending with a grunt to grab the bowl on the floor.

“My name is María Montero,” she said. “I’m a seamstress. I found you half-dead on the beach. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.” She poured warm water into the bowl and reached for the bandage on his shoulder. Corvo caught at her wrist with clumsy fingers, suppressing a wince as pain shot up his arm. The woman started and yanked her hand back; Corvo found he was too weak to hold her. He let his hand fall to his chest with a thump and grimaced as he smacked a bruise.

“Where am I? How long have I been here?” Corvo growled.

“You’re at my house in the Campo Seta, near the Dockmarket. You’ve been here a night and a day,” she said. He glared at her, trying to work out whether or not she was lying.

“Why bring me here?” he said after a moment. She looked away.

“I can’t just leave people to die on the rocks like that,” she said quietly. “It’s not right.” Corvo digested this. Rescued by a good Samaritan – really? The way his luck tended to run, he found it hard to believe. But who would pull such a trick on him? If his enemies caught him, they were far more likely to either throw him in prison or simply kill him, not nurse him back to health first. It seemed an awfully long game to play to gain his trust. Usually they employed more direct and brutal methods to get information, not that he had any the Duke or his lackeys might want. At least his gear – wait. _Shit. Where’s my gear?_

“Where are my things?” Corvo demanded.

“Right here.” The woman patted the bureau. Corvo reached for the top drawer, but she smacked his hand away and opened it for him.

“See?” She pulled things out and showed them to him one by one – his sword, the remains of his bandolier, his belt, his crossbow (miraculously intact,) and a bundle that looked like it might once have been his coat. “You had a few things in your pocket, so I just left them.” So she hadn’t seen the Heart. _Thank heavens._ Corvo reached for the bundle of cloth, and she handed it to him. He felt the Heart beat against his fingers and barely managed to suppress a sigh of relief as he set it down beside him on the bed. She – it – was alright. Fucking hell, he was glad.

“I need to change your bandages,” the woman said.

“Wait. I have … a friend. She was waiting for me at the eastern docks a few days ago. I need to see her, or get a message to her. If I could just – ” He tried to sit up again and his body simply refused to obey him. _Damn it,_ he thought.

“You’re in no condition to go down the hall, let alone to the eastern docks,” the woman said. “I can go look for her. _After_ I change your bandages. And you need to eat something.” Her tone brooked no argument. Corvo blinked. He’d forgotten about eating. And she was right about his ability to move unaided, or lack thereof. What could he do besides accept her help? Well, he supposed he could crawl out onto the street to die; that was always an option. Corvo sighed.

“Alright,” he said.

María fed him first, a thin soup of fish, potatoes and greens. Corvo was too weak to even hold a spoon, so she fed him from a cup, sip by sip. He hated to eat from someone else’s hand, but he was starving so he didn’t complain. Once he was sated, María changed his bandages. Corvo was surprised when she whipped back the sheet and started stripping off the dressing on his thigh, but she didn't bat an eye or even glance at his dick, so he kept his mouth shut. She worked briskly, but her hands were careful and she didn’t hurt him any more than she could avoid. The bandaging on his hip and shoulder were the most painful changes, as Corvo had to roll onto his side for it, but with her help he managed. His bruises were settling from black into brilliant sunset colors, he saw, and his stitches were tidy and small; he’d had worse from professional physicians in the past. By the time she was done, Corvo was shaking with exhaustion.

“I won’t do these all at once again, it’s too much,” she said. “You need to rest. I’ll fix you some tea, and then you should sleep.”

“Wait,” he said. “Meagan…”

“Your friend?”

“She’s got brown skin, short hair. Wears a white coat. She lost an arm at the elbow… Look for a skiff at the end of the docks...”

“What should I tell her?”

“Tell her, Corvo’s alive,” he mumbled.

“Alright. I’ll get you that tea,” she said.

Corvo shut his eyes, just for a moment.

* * *

“ – shouldn’t move him.” Corvo drifted towards wakefulness, following the voices.

“I hate to impose, ma’am.” That was Meagan...

“ _I_ brought him here. It’s no imposition.”

“Still, he’s a member of my crew. I’d like to get him back on the ship. We can care for him there.”

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to get him all the way to the docks…” María sounded dubious. Corvo opened his eyes. There were two figures standing just outside the door to his room, talking quietly. There – Meagan, standing in the doorway. She’d waited for him at the docks? All that time? He tried to sit up again, and failed, again.

“Meagan,” he said. The captain and María turned.

“Corvo,” Meagan said. She kept her voice even, but he could see the relief in her eyes. María glanced between them, then nodded decisively.

“He should eat again. I’ll go fix something. I expect you two want to talk,” his hostess said, and left. Meagan glanced over her shoulder, raising her eyebrows, then came in and shut the door.

“She doesn’t ask many questions,” she commented, coming to sit on the stool beside his bed.

“You came,” Corvo said. Meagan gave him a look.

“Of course I did, you old fool. How did it go?”

“Hypatia was the Crown Killer. She was being poisoned; it made her … crazy, I guess. But I found an antidote, and she should be alright now. The Duke was behind it. I sent her to you. Did she come?”

“Damn,” Meagan said. “So that’s why she showed up. I let her stay. She insisted you were alive, which is why I came back, but… You look like shit, old man. What the hell happened?”

“The Watch ambushed me at the carriage station. My own damn fault.” Corvo glowered, furious with himself.

“Fuck. How bad is it? Can you walk?”

“No. I can’t even sit up.”

“Hell. I don’t want to leave you here, Corvo.”

“This woman, is she really who she says she is?” he asked. Meagan leaned forward, bracing her elbow on her knee.

“I think so, actually,” she said. “María Montero. She lives here. Knows half the neighborhood, it seems. This house is big but empty, which is odd, but not that odd with the fever I suppose. She seems well-meaning. I doubt she’ll hurt you, and she doesn’t like the Watch much.”

“How do you know that?” Corvo asked.

“We had a little trouble with the guards at the docks. She convinced them to let us by – like I said, knows the whole neighborhood. But once we were past she was pretty damn pissed about it. Things have changed around here since the Duke took power. She’s not happy.” Meagan grimaced. “Listen, Corvo, I don’t want to leave you here, but I can’t just abandon my ship. I don’t want to leave Hypatia alone or she’ll probably set the damn boat on fire. And I can’t be running back here all the time. I want to get you back to the Wale.”

“You’d have to carry me, Meagan. I’d rip half my stitches. Just leave me here.”

“Corvo...”

“I’ll manage,” he said.

“What if she gives you up to the Abbey or something?” Meagan asked.

“She would have done that days ago,” Corvo said.

“And if she figures out who you are? Those wanted posters – ”

“I’ll _manage_ , Meagan.” The captain sighed.

“Well, if you’re sure, old man.”

“I’m sure.”

“You damn well better come back,” she said. 

“I will.”

“I’ll be by again in a week or so; gotta go to the market anyways. Don’t fucking die.” Meagan glared at him.

“I’ll do my best,” Corvo said.

* * *

_They were coming for him again. Corvo was too tired even to shudder at the sound of footsteps outside his cell. His back burned with every breath he took. The whipping they’d given him last time had lasted what seemed like hours while he hung from his wrists, toes scrabbling for purchase on stone wet with his own blood. He thought the wounds were infected. Three sleeps later, give or take, and still his back was raw and weeping._

_Corvo had still had his pride, the first time they’d dragged him into that room. He’d broken one guard’s nose and another’s hand before they swarmed him and shackled him to that awful chair. He’d spat in the torturer’s face. They’d gone straight for the hot iron. Things had only gotten worse after that._

_It didn’t take four men to subdue him, these days. Corvo was sick, weak with infection, starvation, and pain. His hands shook constantly. A diet of foul water, stale bread, thin gruel, and weevils wasn’t enough to sustain a healthy man, let alone heal a wounded one._

_They said it had been five months. They said he’d be executed soon. Corvo had lost all sense of time. He’d wanted to fight at the beginning, wanted his revenge. Now, he mostly wanted it to be over. He still fought them out of spite, but the righteous anger had faded. Corvo simply hated now. The hot little seed of his hatred burned a trail down through his breastbone to his heart. It hurt; it kept him warm._

_“Get up.” There were guards outside his cell. Corvo didn’t move. It was always worse for him if they had to drag him. He didn’t care. Fuck them; let them work for it._

_“Get the fuck up, shithead.”_

_“Lazy bastard.” The door opened. Footsteps. Corvo waited._

_A big hand grabbed him by the hair and dragged him off the bare planks that served as his cot, down onto the filthy floor. Corvo groaned, grabbing at his attacker’s wrist, trying to force his fingers in between the bones of the joint and make the man let go, but he was so damned weak. His hands felt heavy; his shoulder burned. Someone kicked him, right in the back. He felt his flesh tear as his vision whited out for a moment. Corvo yelled in pain._

_“You never wanna do this the easy way, do you, shithead?”_ Where’s the fun in that? _Corvo thought, but he’d given up talking long ago. He struggled to breathe. Everything hurt._

_“Come on, let’s just bring him.” Feet shuffled. Men grabbed his arms, hauling him half-upright between them. Corvo’s shoulders screamed at the weight, still painful after spending some indeterminate eternity hung from his wrists in the torturer’s room. He tried to get his feet under him, but his legs were too weak; his knees gave out. They dragged him down the hall._

_“Put him in the chair.” Campbell’s voice was bored. Corvo was almost grateful not to be hung from the ceiling again. The guards slammed him down and he nearly fainted when his bleeding back hit the backrest. By the time he'd caught his breath, he was already shackled down._

_“You’ve only got few weeks left until your execution, Corvo,” Campbell said. “It doesn’t have to go on like this.”_

_Corvo just stared at him._ One of these days, you bastard, you’ll get what’s coming to you, _he thought._

 _“Sign the confession, and you can go back to your cell.” Sign the confession. Such a simple thing, to sign a piece of paper. One signature to_ _admit to murdering Jessamine, his Empress, his_ Jessie _, the mother of his little girl? Corvo spat on the floor, tasting blood._

_“That’s all we need now, Corvo. Just your signature. What will it take to get that from you? How much more are you willing to lose?” Campbell rose, leaning on the desk. The torturer stepped out of the shadows; Corvo twitched. He hadn’t even seen him._

_There was a hot iron in the brazier, a pair of tongs in the torturer’s hand._

_“Hold him,” Campbell said. Hands wrapped around Corvo’s head from behind, forcing him back against the chair, holding him steady. “Get his mouth open.”_

_Corvo fought them, fought hard against the fingers pressing against his jaw, forcing his teeth apart, but it was no use. He was so weak, so fucking weak, and he couldn’t stop them._

_“You just need to sign, Corvo. You don’t need a tongue for that. And since you’re not using it anyway…” Campbell was closer now, standing at parade rest and meeting his eyes coolly over the torturer’s shoulder. Corvo couldn’t breathe. The torturer clamped his tongue in the tongs, pulling it out. Corvo choked._ No, no, no, no no, it didn’t happen like this, it wasn’t like this –

_The torturer met his eyes and smiled as he unfolded a razor blade._

“Corvo? Corvo? Hey.”

He woke with a gasp, heaving for air as he fought desperately to sit up. He hurt – his arms, his shoulder, his wrist – he was _so fucking weak_. María sat next to his bed, peering at him worriedly. He couldn’t sit up. Corvo’s heart pounded in his chest. He _couldn’t sit up._ He kept trying anyway.

“Here, let me help you.” She took hold of his good shoulder and bore some of his weight, carefully propping him up on folded blankets pulled from the bureau beside his bed. At last Corvo reclined, mostly upright, clutching his blankets in his good hand and taking deep, steadying breaths.

“Bad dream?” María asked, her mouth twisting sympathetically. Corvo nodded. He hadn’t had a nightmare like that in a long time. The Coldridge dreams had stopped years ago for the most part. It was his fucking injuries that brought it all back, the pain, the terrible weakness… He shuddered. They’d threatened to cut his tongue out once, if he didn’t talk, but had never gone through with it. He couldn’t remember what they’d done to him instead. Those months in Coldridge all blurred together into one long stream of pain and darkness, leaving a broad impression of the red-hot iron, the dank prison air, and the smirking, leering faces of a thousand guards that blended into one. It was hard for him to pick out specific memories, even now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” María asked. Corvo _wanted_ to get up, wanted to pace the halls, run, train, spar, _anything,_ just to have the use of his body back, and reassure himself of the strength of his own limbs. But he couldn’t. He could hardly move. He could have screamed from panic and frustration. Instead, he shook his head.

“I’m hungry,” he said. His voice was steady. That was good. That was something.

“Of course. Just a minute.” María rose and left. Corvo looked around the room, trying to calm himself. The Karnacan sunshine poured thick and golden through the window. He could see laundry flapping in the breeze. Children called to each other on the street. He wasn’t in Coldridge. He _wasn’t_ in Coldridge. That time was fifteen years gone.

“The soup’s cold,” María said from the doorway. Corvo jumped a little. “Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you. Here.” María sat again, and offered him a mug. Corvo reached for it with his good hand, which shook badly. She let him take it, but he spilled broth on himself almost immediately.

“Damn it,” he muttered. She wrapped a hand around his, supporting his grip, and helped him guide the mug to his lips. It was a chowder, which suffered a bit for being cold, but it tasted amazing to him: salmon and onions, potatoes and corn. He gulped it down. The gnawing in his stomach eased. Corvo looked at María. She took the mug from him, and he laid his hand down slowly on top of the blankets. His rescuer set the mug on the bureau and frowned at him, a little line between her eyebrows.

“Are you alright?” she asked. Corvo nodded. He felt a little calmer now, with some food in him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Do you want more to eat?”

“Please.” He couldn’t quite keep the urgency from his voice. _Gruel and weevils…_

“I’ll go heat up the rest of the soup,” María said, and left again.

Corvo looked down at his lap. The Heart still lay beside him, half-hidden under a blanket, bundled in the remnants of his coat. Finally he was alone, and awake enough to speak to her – it – her. He curled his fingers around the Heart carefully.

 _I wish I could protect you, my love,_ Jessamine’s voice whispered in his ear.

“Jessie…” Corvo said softly. He was never sure if she could hear him. He hoped she could.

 _You are safe here,_ the Heart murmured.

“For how long?” Corvo asked her.

 _She sees you, dear one. She sees you…_ The Heart sounded almost wistful.

“What do you mean?”

_She sees you…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta right now. Does the POV changing make sense? I can add in relevant headers whenever the POV switches if necessary.


	2. Chapter 2

María was darning his socks. She’d asked if he needed anything, and after yet another day and night stuck in that little room, Corvo had confessed that he was bored and lonely. He hated being cooped up, and he _really_ hated not being able to move. Lack of mobility was the worst thing about recovering from an injury, in his opinion. Corvo was a man of action in the most literal sense – his body was the substance of him, what he was _for,_ his fighting prowess as the Lord Protector, Blade of the Empress. And he was stuck here, hundreds of miles away from Emily, bedridden. It was driving him slowly insane.

So María sat with him, and darned. She’d dragged a chair into the room (“I can’t just sit on that stool forever,”) put her feet up, and mended his socks, which she’d managed to save for him. She tried asking him questions at first, but Corvo hoped to get through this while telling her as little as possible about himself or his activities, so she gave up after awhile and sewed quietly, humming to herself. Corvo ran a gentle thumb over the Heart, hidden in his hand under the blanket.

 _She has lost so much, and given so much,_ Jessie murmured. _T_ _here are_ _widows and orphans, but_ _we have_ _no word for a mother who loses her child_ _ren_ _. Her heart is good, she is not yet bitter despite all the pain, just like you, my love…_ Corvo wasn’t sure if he agreed with that assessment – he was pretty bitter, he thought – but he couldn’t very well argue with the Heart while María sat right there.

 _She sees you,_ Jessie said. So they were back to that again. He didn’t know what it meant. Had María guessed who he was? A ginger exploration of his face with his fingers had revealed bruising and swelling, both of which were starting to ease. He knew she’d seen his mask. Maybe she wouldn’t recognize him. Maybe she didn’t know the mask by sight. If he was lucky, he’d be able to leave before she sussed out his identity. That would be ideal. He didn’t want to leave a trail, and he certainly didn’t want this woman endangered simply because she was kind. Corvo wondered whether it would be better to look in on her again later and make sure she was alright, or if it would be safer for her if he never came back here again.

The late afternoon sun spilled down gently over María, turning the gray in her hair to streaks of brilliant gold. Her lashes caught the light as she turned the sock over in her hands, repositioning her darning egg. The needle flashed. Her mouth was wide and full, expressive, now slightly pursed as she examined her work. She glanced over at him and gave a small smile. She was beautiful, Corvo realized. He’d been so caught up in his injuries that he’d hardly noticed at first; she had been just another stranger to him, a source of food, and a pair of hands. But now he looked at her, really _looked._ Her fingers were strong and clever, and she handled her needle with easy skill. Her shirt was open at the neck, revealing her clavicle and the hollow of her throat. Her hair was back in that loose braid, but a few locks had escaped and framed her cheek becomingly.

“How are you?” she asked. That was mostly what she asked him now, along with, “Are you in pain?” and “Do you need anything?” After her earlier attempts at conversation, she seemed content to leave him alone. Corvo appreciated it. He hated to be rude, but… well. Some things were more important than manners. Not getting people killed, for example.

“I’m alright,” he said. María waited. She probably wanted to know more. _Bah_. “My shoulder doesn’t hurt much today.”

“Good!” She smiled. Corvo debated with himself. He hated to impose, but it was going on three days now… To be fair he’d slept most of that time, but still.

“What happened to my clothes?” he hazarded. María frowned.

“I had to cut them off you. I’m sorry. Do you want something else to wear?”

“Please,” Corvo said with feeling. Being naked except for a blanket made him feel unpleasantly vulnerable.

“Are you sure you can manage? Your bandages still need regular changing…”

“I just want to get dressed,” Corvo said. He really didn’t give a damn how much of a nuisance it would be. He’d deal with it later.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.” María set down his socks on the bureau and ducked out of the room. He heard her footsteps on the stairs above his head.

* * *

María kept most of her late husband’s clothes in a crate under her bed. She dug them out and sorted through them, looking for something Corvo could put on easily. Antonio had favored pullovers, which was unfortunate. At last she came up with a shirt and some trousers she thought Corvo might be able to manage. The shirt was big, but maybe that would help him get it on. It was a good thing she hadn’t had to cut through Corvo’s belt, she thought. Antonio’s old belts would never fit him – he was much leaner than her husband had ever been.

Back in the room under the stairs, she shook out the shirt and held it up for Corvo.

“I can dress myself,” he said.

“Are you sure? Your shoulder – ”

“I can do it,” he said mulishly. She looked at him, took in the set of his jaw and the tightness around his eyes.

“Well, alright,” she said at length. “Just call if you need help.” She laid the clothing on the bed and left him to it, shutting the door behind her.

María went into her workroom across the hall, listening for Corvo as she sorted through her mending. She remembered the look on his face when he’d woken from that nightmare yesterday: pure, blind terror. She thought of the way he’d struggled so hard to sit up, and panicked when he couldn’t. He was a stoic man, never complaining about the pain of his injuries, although she knew they must hurt him a great deal. He kept his face schooled to blankness most of the time, and he was certainly… laconic, evasive even, when she asked him questions. She didn’t wish to pry, but even small talk was off-limits with him. “Are you from Karnaca?” she’d asked, and he’d shrugged his good shoulder, and left it at that. Heavens above, the man was impossible to talk to.

But then, she knew he was afraid. She wondered again who had hurt him, and why. Did he refuse to tell her about himself because he was afraid of her? It occurred to her suddenly that he might be afraid _for_ her, which would be sweet if it were true. He’d been so shocked to learn that she really had helped him out of kindness, with no ulterior motive. María didn’t expect to receive anything from him in return, not even compensation for the food and bandages. Perhaps he had nothing to give. There certainly wasn’t much of value in his possession, besides his weapons.

That mask, the tattoo, and there was something about his face… Well, he was black and blue still, but his profile was oddly familiar. María struggled to place it. Corvo was _so_ mysterious. Well dressed without a coin on him, terribly hurt and carrying weapons of fine make. She’d work it out eventually. _Maybe he’ll just tell me,_ she thought, then smiled a little at herself, amused. So far Corvo had volunteered almost no information to her, except to mention that he was hungry, or needed to use the toilet, or to ask her to sit with him. She ought to read to him. She had a few good books…

There was a loud clatter from the bedroom, then a thump and a muffled curse. María was across the hall in a flash, knocking on the door.

“Corvo? Are you alright?” There was a pause. María was reaching for the doorknob when he replied.

“I _fell,”_ he growled.

“Can I come in?” she asked. Corvo sighed heavily.

“Yes,” he said, his voice low and unhappy. María opened the door.

Corvo was on the floor, struggling to sit up. He’d made it into the shirt, which impressed her, but – she supposed he must have stood up to put on the trousers and underthings she’d brought him. They were tangled around his ankles, and he was otherwise naked. He looked up at her warily, black eyes glinting in his battered face. María said nothing, but knelt and looped his good arm over her shoulders.

“Let’s get you up,” she said, and together they rose, Corvo leaning on her heavily. This close, she could feel him trembling. Tired, or upset? Maybe both.

“Here.” María bent to pick up his trousers, then pulled them up to cover him while Corvo supported himself on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for you to – see.” A blush stained his cheeks. María ignored it.

“I’ve borne three sons, my dear man. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen a thousand times before,” María said briskly, buttoning his fly. “It’ll take a little more than that to shock me.” Besides, she’d seen him naked half a dozen times already, but María didn’t want to rub it in if he was embarrassed about it. Corvo nodded a little.

“You should sit,” she said. It ended up being a two-person job, and Corvo sighed in relief when he was fully settled on the bed.

“What happened?” María asked.

“Hip gave out,” he said shortly. She nodded.

“You shouldn’t be up and about yet,” she said.

“I would have been alright if I’d had something to lean on. I just lost my damn balance,” Corvo grumbled. María thought that might be the most words she’d ever heard him string together.

“Are you hurt at all?” she said.

“Just my dignity,” Corvo said. María laughed, surprised.

“You made a joke!” she said.

“It’s the clothes,” said Corvo, straight-faced. “Very fortifying.” He ran his good hand down his chest.

“I’m glad to hear it.” They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. María felt easier with him than she ever had. Corvo looked down at his hands, half-hidden under those too-long sleeves of Antonio’s.

“Thank you,” he said. María squeezed his good shoulder, rather touched.

“Those clothes were gathering dust anyway. I’m glad to see them put to good use.”

“Whose are they? If you don’t mind me asking,” Corvo said.

“My husband’s. He died.” María didn’t want to dwell on it.

“I’m sorry. I know how hard that is.” Corvo didn’t look at her, but his voice was sincere. A widower, then? She added it to the list of things she knew about him, which was exceedingly short.

“Well, life goes on, I suppose,” she said, falsely cheerful.

“Yes,” Corvo said, but his face was grim.

* * *

The epiphany hit her like a ton of dead fish. María was at the market, basket in hand, walking from the fishmonger’s stall to the baker’s, when she glanced up at the Wanted posters under the awning and stopped in her tracks, stunned and absolutely appalled. She _knew_ that profile was familiar. She _knew it!_ And there it was. Twenty thousand coins for information leading to the capture of one Corvo Attano. That craggy face leapt out at her. It was an excellent likeness. María clutched at her basket as things started falling into place.

Of course he was reluctant to talk to her about anything of import. Of _course_ he’d been attacked – he was wanted by the Duke! And that _mask!_ She placed it suddenly. It was so long ago, during the last coup in Dunwall; she’d seen the posters afterwards in the papers, once Empress Emily took the throne. Every paper in the Empire had done their little exposés on what had happened, and she’d seen the images of, what was it, the Masked Criminal? Something like that. Corvo _fucking_ Attano, the Lord Protector, donning a mask to fight for his Empress. It had all seemed like bullshit at the time, if she was being honest. So far-fetched! She’d scoffed at it, and her friends had joined her, agreeing that the truth had been lost in the thousand retellings between Dunwall and Karnaca. But now who did she have under her roof? A man named Corvo, who was oddly reticent, wore that damn mask, and bore a striking resemblance to the poster in front of her.

Was she putting herself in danger by taking care of him? If they knew who he was they’d surely come for him, and she would be treated as his accomplice. She could turn him in, take the Duke’s money and walk away. Her skin crawled at the idea of accepting anything from the fucking Duke, even coin. Or she could simply throw him out onto the street, let the city have him… María thought of him battered and bleeding on the table in her workshop, crying out desperately in his sleep, remembered picking him up off the floor yesterday morning while he blushed and clung to her shoulder like a lifeline.

Had she pulled him out of the ocean only to throw him to the wolves?

Pastries forgotten, María headed home, walking quickly and avoiding the eyes of her neighbors when they waved to her. She had to think. She wanted to see him, be sure she wasn’t imagining things… María wondered if she should confront him, demand to know his identity. But she was certain. She felt it in her bones. It was _him._

She found him sitting at her kitchen table, breathing hard.

“Corvo?” she said. He nodded to her in greeting.

“How did you get out here?” María clutched at her basket, nervousness and simple concern for his welfare churning in her gut.

“I walked,” he said.

“You should have waited for me to get home! What if you’d fallen?” she scolded. She knew her anxiety was speaking for her, but she couldn’t stop it.

“I did. I got back up.”

“You can’t just go traipsing around the house alone! What if something _happened_ to you?” She was being a nag, she knew, but her mouth ran off without her. “I can’t check on you if I’m not here! You could have been hurt!” Corvo took this with practiced equanimity. He looked up, meeting her eyes seriously.

“I’m alright, María,” he said. She opened her mouth to lecture him further, then shut it again, the wind going out of her sails. She couldn’t throw him out now, or turn him over to anyone. She just _couldn’t._ Corvo needed her help; he might die without her. Why should she care what the Duke wanted, or the Watch, or some Empress who didn’t give two licks about anyone in this city? He was here, now, and he was depending on her. María had let enough people down already. When she’d brought him into her home, she’d made a tacit promise to see him healed and on his way, and that was exactly what she was going to do. _You’ve really put your foot in it this time,_ she told herself. Well, it was too late now, and it didn’t matter anyway; she would look after him as long as he needed it.

María set her basket down on the table, then came to sit beside him.

“Are you _sure_ you’re alright?” she asked.

* * *

The next day, Corvo walked alone without falling. First to the toilet and back – an accomplishment he reveled in, even as he resented it – and then to the kitchen, to ask María for help with something. His boots had survived his little dunk in the ocean, but they desperately needed a cleaning, something that was very hard to do one-handed. So María helped him with it that evening, holding the boots for him as he scrubbed and oiled them both in turn. He saw her look them over, noting the quality of the leather, the fineness of the make, and not say a word.

When they were done, they sat side by side at her table. María had been in and out all day, sewing in her workroom where the light was better, or coming and going from the house (to the market and the docks, Corvo supposed,) chatting with neighbors on the street. Corvo had heard her decline a dinner invitation just outside his bedroom window. Now she sat with a drop spindle in hand, and spun silently in the candlelight. Corvo was suddenly reminded of his childhood, watching his mother and sister spinning in the evenings in a kitchen very like this one, the fire muttering in the hearth, just as María’s did.

“I have a fitting tomorrow. You should stay in your room all morning,” María said. “Some of my neighbors are nosy.”

“A fitting?”

“I’m a dressmaker, among other things. It’s a living for an old widow like me.” María laughed to herself. “All these years, all those children and I still ended up a spinster.” Corvo hadn’t seen any of her children. He’d been there several days, and not a soul had come by the house. It was a decent-sized family home, two or three stories, he thought, but empty and rundown, with only María living there. Meagan had been right – it was odd.

“Why hide me?” he asked.

“Do you want the whole neighborhood to know you’re here?” María said.

“Why should you care?” Surely it wasn’t a question of propriety, of all things. María was far from a blushing virgin. People might gossip a bit if a widow took a lover, but there’d be no real repercussions for her. But María stopped spinning, winding her thread around the spindle and looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

“You’ve got a bit of a bounty on your head, you know,” she said. _Fuck,_ Corvo thought. She knew.

“Did you think I hadn’t worked it out? It took me a few of days to place you and that mask – ” of course pictures of the mask had gotten all the way down to Karnaca, that was just typical “ – but once the swelling on your face went down, it was pretty hard to miss. Those wanted posters are a fair likeness, aren’t they? I’m impressed. They’re usually not so good. I suppose they came straight from the crown though. It’s a state bounty.”

She was being so blasé about it that Corvo would have been miffed if he wasn’t so worried. He didn’t want to run, not in this state. He’d made it to the kitchen under his own power earlier, but after cleaning his boots, he was tired. The leather needed a rest to absorb the oil, and his sword belt and bandolier still needed repairs. He’d have to leave most of his gear behind, and his magic reserves were low. He thought he might be able to evade the Watch, _if_ he could get out of the building, _if_ Meagan was miraculously down at the docks, _if_ he could even find her before he got caught, and _if_ he was able to blend in with the crowd. None of those things seemed likely. María alone could probably overpower him right now if she really wanted to.

“I’m not going to turn you in. I have no love for the Watch, or the Duke, or the Abbey for that matter. And none at all for the new Empress. That’s why you’re here, I’d bet. She staged a coup, didn’t she? The Duke says it was the ‘proper succession,’ but I doubt your Empress just handed over the crown.” María shrugged. “Affairs of state are not my problem. The folk in the Tower of Dunwall don’t care much for Karnaca.”

Corvo looked down, keeping his face carefully blank. The wood of María’s kitchen table was worn from many scrubbings, scored with the marks of kitchen knives and cleavers after thousands of dinners prepared there. It was probably as old as her marriage, as old as her eldest child. Corvo thought of Emily, trapped in stone in the throne room, waiting for him. Was she aware of what was happening? Did she know he’d abandoned her? It was hard not to begrudge María her indifference.

“It’s a lot of coin,” Corvo said.

“Whatever,” said María. Corvo gave a little huff of disbelief. María shrugged again and set her spindle on the table, rising and digging in her pocket for a cigarette, offering it to him first, though he declined with a gesture. María bent to light it on a candle, then ambled to the kitchen window, leaning on the sill and smoking. Her braid hung down her back; her trousers hugged the curves of her hips; the collar of her shirt was unbuttoned. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and looked at him contemplatively. Corvo wondered what she was thinking.

“You really don’t care about the money?” he said.

“I live well enough, and I have no one to provide for. I don’t need it. Besides, fuck the Duke. I lost a son to those damn mines.” She took an angry drag on her cigarette, looking past Corvo, eyes fixed on some bad memory.

“Where _are_ your children?” Corvo asked.

“Dead,” María said flatly. _Shit._ _All of them?_ he thought.

“I’m sorry.”

“Aren’t we all.” María knocked the ash from her cigarette into an ashtray on the windowsill beside her. Corvo wondered how many children she’d lost. One to the mines, and surely more – she’d mentioned three sons. All gone? And then there was her husband. How long ago had he died? He thought of Jessamine with a pang. Fifteen years later, and her loss still stung.

“I’m here because of my daughter,” he said. “She was … captured in the coup. I need to overthrow Delilah. I want her back.” Something changed in María’s face.

“Why do you need to overthrow the Empress for that?” she asked. “Breaking her out of prison would be easier, and you’ve done that before.”

“It’s complicated,” Corvo said.

“Fair enough.” María looked out the window. “I’m sorry about your girl. I wish I could help. I miss my daughters every day.” So that was at least five children, then. Corvo’s mouth tightened in sympathy.

“You are helping,” he said.

* * *

“Jessie?” Corvo murmured. He sat alone in his room, a single candle the only thing between him and the darkness. He cradled the Heart in his hands, stroking a careful thumb across the smooth, dry skin, the familiar twists of wire.

 _She sees you,_ the Heart whispered.

“Can you hear me? Jess?” It didn’t answer.

“She knows who I am, Jess,” Corvo said at length. “She says she won’t turn me in, and I’m damned if I don’t believe her. I think… I think I can _trust_ her, Jessie. Am I crazy?”

 _She sees you,_ Jessie said.

“Who? María? Emily? Delilah? _Who_ sees me?”

_The woman you care for, who cares for you… She speaks the truth, my love._

“You _can_ hear me. Jess!”

 _You are safe here,_ she said.

“Jessie, I – ” All those words spoken in the dark, all those hours with the Heart clenched in his hands, whispering half-prayers to her. _Jessamine, can you hear me? Do you know me? I love you, I love you, my darling, I’m so sorry, I failed you, I lost you, it was all my fault, don’t leave me, just talk to me, please, please…_

 _You see her,_ the Heart said. _She sees you._

“I don’t know what that means!” Corvo whispered.

 _Don’t let go,_ said the Heart.

“Jessie?”

 _She sees you,_ it said.

_She sees you._

_She sees you._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief mentions of sexual assault and child death.

As the swelling on his face went down, María came to the uncomfortable realization that the former Lord Protector Corvo Attano was a _very_ handsome man. It was really sort of unfair, María thought. If she had to have a man in her home who couldn’t wash his own back, he could at least have the decency to be unattractive. Well, she’d brought this on herself, hadn’t she? _I’ve made my bed and now I must lie in it, alone,_ she thought.

Corvo wasn’t up to bathing on his own yet, his flexibility severely hampered by his injuries – it still took two people to get his shirt off. María suspected he might have been happy enough to avoid bathing altogether, but it was far too hot in Karnaca for that sort of nonsense in _her_ house. He’d been there long enough by now that even though he spent most of his time resting, he was getting a little ripe. She’d managed to talk him into a proper sponge bath when they changed his bandages, and now he sat naked on a stool in her kitchen, rubbing his chest down with a damp cloth.

María wet the rag in her hand, then ran it gently over his shoulder blade, the thick, ropy scars of a heavy whipping interrupted by an old burn nearly as wide as her hand. When had that happened? And why? She wondered if these were relics of his time in prison after the death of the last Empress. She’d _heard_ he’d been imprisoned, anyway. It was quite the story. María had no idea how much of it was true. Imprisonment, torture, a daring escape, black magic, the single-handed, bloodless overthrow of the treacherous regent… it all seemed so fantastical. But he had those old whalebone charms in that bandolier, his curiously heavy knife, and the mask… Not to mention whatever he kept bundled up in the remains of his coat. She didn’t want to snoop, but it was strange. Corvo Attano had so many secrets.

Tall, dark, handsome, terribly mysterious, _and_ the strong and silent type to boot. María worked her way down his spine, refusing to trace his scars as she went. She wondered how many people had done that over the years, poked and prodded him, asked for the story behind each one. They must all swoon over him at court. He wasn’t that old, honestly – a perfectly marriageable prospect for many women, not that age was much of a hindrance to nobles. There were plenty of rich lechers far older than Corvo who took wives as young as her daughters had been. But there, she was done.

“Let me see that arm,” María said, and Corvo obligingly offered his right arm for her inspection. María looked the healing wounds over critically. They were closing well, she thought.

“The stitches can come out in a day or two,” Corvo said. She supposed he would know – doubtless a fighter like him had more experience dealing with these sorts of injuries than she did.

“Good. Just let me know,” María said.

“I will.” Corvo had a nice voice, low and quiet when he used it. His Serkonan accent had been nearly erased by all those years in Dunwall, but she could still hear it. They said he was Karnacan; she’d never known his family, never spent much time in the Batista, back before it became the Dust District. She could only imagine if they’d met when they were young: a soft-spoken Karnacan man with a lean body, hawk’s eyes, and big, strong hands. She would have mooned over him for months when she was a girl. Not that she was mooning now, of course; she was much too old for that sort of thing.

María wet her rag again, then squeezed it out and went over his arm with it quickly, careful to keep well clear of his stitches. He had such big hands, dusted with thin, white scars all across his knuckles; a swordsman’s scars, she realized. His callouses were different than those of the people she knew, his skin toughened by years of handling weapons, not wielding a hammer or hauling rope. She had to wonder what those hands would feel like, if… María looked up at Corvo, his hand still in hers, and found him watching her impassively with those sharp black eyes. She blushed and released him.

“There, done,” she said, looking away. “Do you need me for anything else?”

“I’ll manage,” Corvo said. He picked up his own cloth again and wet it.

“Good – I mean, alright. I’ll go fetch you a towel.” María beat a hasty retreat. He was just _too_ handsome, that was the trouble. It was terribly distracting.

By the time she’d collected herself and returned to the kitchen with a towel and some clean clothes, Corvo was nearly done. María dried him briskly, then helped him back into his clothes with care, rolling up his shirtsleeves for him. Antonio had always liked this shirt; the blue dye had faded, and it was soft with wearing. She wondered what her husband might have thought of Corvo.

“There you go,” she said.

“Thank you,” said Corvo.

“I was thinking ceviche tonight; it’s too hot to cook,” María said.

“I should really pay you,” said Corvo.

“With what money?” María laughed, helping him stand. He leaned on her less each day, but he was still weak. Corvo grimaced.

“I _have_ money back on the ship,” he said.

“Pay me when you can get there, then,” she told him. He sighed and glared at splinted wrist, as though it was the single thing preventing him from walking down to the docks.

“María,” he began. She waved a hand at him.

“I don’t mind. It’s damn nice having someone to cook for again, honestly. I miss having family around. Good to have company.” Corvo smiled, or rather, a corner of his mouth quirked slightly, which seemed to be about as close to smiling as he ever got.

“I was just going to say, thank you for looking after me,” he said.

“Oh!” María felt a little breathless. She realized she was still holding his arm and stepped back, blushing like a girl. _Oh, this is ridiculous!_ “Well. I’d better start the bread then.”

* * *

Corvo worked on his bandolier as she made her bread and set it to rise. María had her husband’s old leather working tools about, and had loaned them to him happily, saying that they were only gathering dust. Corvo worked slowly, hampered by his splinted wrist. It ached. He _really_ hated broken bones.

“I’m surprised you can repair leather so well,” María said.

“Why?”

“I would have thought someone of your rank would have people for that sort of work.” Corvo’d had several arguments with the Tower staff and guards about that very thing. He smiled a little.

“A soldier relies on his weapons as much as his skill. It’s important to be able to repair your gear,” he said, setting a stitch. He’d always told Emily that, insisted that she learn to maintain her weapons and repair her own things. A sword was no good if she couldn’t keep it sharp. Even an Empress couldn’t rely on other people for everything, especially not in the worst case. Being able to care for her gear during a coup or uprising could mean the difference between her life and death. He remembered teaching her to mend a torn strap, her hands quick and clever as she followed his instructions, and swallowed against the tightness in his throat. _I’m coming for you, sweetheart._ _I’ll get there, I swear it._

“My husband used to say the same thing about his nets and the like,” María said. “He had two boats by the end, and he worked on them himself. ‘What good is a fisherman who can’t keep his vessel afloat?’ he used to say.” Corvo nodded a little. María lit herself a cigarette.

“He was a good man. Kept us well, bought this house. Never did anything stupid at sea. Not that it saved him, in the end.”

“I’m sorry,” Corvo said.

“That’s life, I guess. We had a good run of it. Thirty years or so. I miss him.” María’s voice was sad. Corvo thought of Jessamine. They’d always wanted to marry, always knew it was impossible. But they’d had Emily, and she was enough. She was _everything_.

Corvo looked up, and found María eyeing him thoughtfully again. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to stare. You’re a mysterious man, Corvo.” He raised both eyebrows at that. María shrugged.

“I suppose you’ll tell me what you like, when you like. I don’t need to pry.”

They sat in silence for a time, María smoking, Corvo reattaching a buckle. His wrist was a damned nuisance. At least he could move his hand well enough again; it had been too painful for awhile. He still couldn't lift things with his left arm, but he had the use of his fingers back. That was progress, right? Right. Corvo just wished things were progressing _faster._ He didn't have time for this. Emily was depending on him.

María dropped her cigarette butt in the ashtray.

“I should check my dough,” she said, and left him to his work.

Corvo watched her as she cooked, putting her bread to bake and deftly cleaning and filleting some fish. This was the life he might have had if he’d stayed in Serkonos, he realized. A position in the guard, good wages to support a wife and family. He was sure he hadn’t known María Montero in his youth, but he’d known girls like her, hadn’t he? Maybe. He wondered what she’d been like when she was young. No painted beauty of the royal court, but clever and strong, with thick, black curls and flashing eyes… She was a handsome woman, that was undeniable. Corvo couldn’t help but like her. She was no-nonsense but kind, and he’d never met someone so good at minding their own business in his life.

María moved around her kitchen with practiced grace, her bare feet shushing softly on the cool tiles. She swayed a little and hummed absently to herself, chopping herbs, cutting up limes, slicing her vegetables neatly. She was a woman in her element when she cooked or sewed, Corvo thought, as skilled with a knife or needle as he was with a sword, really. He could mend a torn seam or fry an egg, but that was about it. There was little need for the Lord Protector to have such skills. As María had said last night, he had people for that sort of thing. Or he used to, at any rate.

Corvo wondered if she could dance. He wondered what she’d feel like against him if he drew her into his arms and stepped through a waltz with her there in that little kitchen. He imagined his hand at the small of her back, imagined slipping an arm around her waist, turning her chin with a touch of his fingers, and… Corvo let out a frustrated breath. He had to focus on Emily now. He had to find the information he needed and deal with Delilah any way he could. Nothing was more important. Besides, it would be incredibly rude to make advances on his host. She was putting him up out of the goodness of her heart, seeing to his wounds, feeding him, all for free. Corvo wasn’t about to ask her for sex as well. Maybe if Emily were safe and the world weren’t falling to pieces around him again… Well, if that were true, he wouldn’t be here. He’d never have met María in the first place.

 _I’m in no condition to do anything with her in any case,_ he thought, watching her briskly juice a lime. It wasn't like his fantasies would ever go anywhere, no matter how much he was growing to like her. Corvo would say nothing, do nothing - but he could think, he supposed. No harm in that.

* * *

It was too hot to sleep. María sat in the rocking chair in her darkened room, a cigarette in one hand, wearing nothing but a light shift, and sweated, fanning herself. She’d opened the doors to the balcony, but there was no breeze at all tonight, and the air was a lead blanket pressing down on the city. Not for the first time, she wished she had the money for electricity. It was damned hot and paper fans were all well and good, but the mechanical ones were a hell of a lot better. Maybe if Antonio were still alive they could’ve afforded it, but he’d been sick towards the end when they’d been wiring up the city, and he’d mostly retired from the fishing boats by then. Once he’d died his partner had cut her out entirely, the bastard, and with nothing but her income as a seamstress, it was paper fans or nothing at all. She rocked, one foot on the floor. She was so tired.

María hoped Corvo at least was getting a decent night’s rest. He needed it. At least he was healing well. He was the first one she’d ever found alive, and she’d saved him. It made her feel a little bit hopeful. If only someone had helped Nadia… María shut her eyes as the tears leaked down her cheeks. _Damn it._ She stubbed out her cigarette. She would never be done crying for her children, would she? The two that died as babes, the three that died later, the one she lost. She remembered Tomás, two days before the mine collapse, kissing her on the cheek and saying _I’ll see you next week, mamá._ Álvaro, offering her a violet half-crushed in his little hand. Isabel begging not to be sent to quarantine, and Nadia –

María dropped her fan, buried her face in her hands, and wept. It was some time before she heard a soft creak from her doorway. She looked up, and there he was in the doorway. How had she not heard him come up the stairs? Wait – he had made it up the stairs?

“Corvo?” she said. Her voice wobbled. _Damn it!_

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep, and then...”

“It’s alright.” She got up, offering a hand to him for support, which he declined with a gesture. “You shouldn’t be on the stairs alone. You should sit.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Sit!” María pointed at the bed. Her voice was steadier now, thankfully. Corvo threw up his hands in surrender and sat. She busied herself lighting a candle, keeping her face turned away from him. _I must look a sight._ Not that he’d never seen a woman cry before. She was being silly.

“Are you alright?” Corvo asked. She gave a bitter little huff of a laugh.

“I’m as well as ever,” she said, looking at him with what she was sure was a face red and puffy from weeping. His face was still as always. He regarded her silently.

“Did you need something?” she asked. Corvo blinked.

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get back to sleep, and then I heard you crying.” He looked down. “I thought maybe _you_ needed something.”

“Oh. That’s kind of you. I…” María let out a harsh breath and sat beside him on the bed. “I need my children back,” she said. She was going for bitter humor, but she just ended up sounding miserable.

“What happened?” Corvo asked quietly.

“What didn’t? I’ve lost two infants. My second son was taken by the Abbey when he was just a little one, the bastards. No idea if he’s still alive; I know what they do to the children they take. I lost one daughter to the bloodfly fever, my eldest son to the mines, and my youngest girl they found raped, beaten, and dumped in the canal last year. She was the last one, just nineteen… Thank heavens my husband didn’t live to see it.” Her voice shook. She was going to start crying in front of him again. _Typical._

She heard Corvo draw a breath, then change his mind. He placed a careful hand on her back, just behind her shoulder. María thought, inanely, that she wished Corvo Attano was softly touching her bare skin under somewhat better circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“She might have lived, if someone had just pulled her out of the water. She _drowned,_ Corvo!” The tears came freely now. María put her face in her hands.

“Did they catch the man responsible?”

María dashed her tears away angrily. “Oh, they caught someone all right. But it wasn’t him. I knew the lad, and it was a frame-up if I ever saw one. He was a Howler, sure, but Pedro?” She shook her head. “I knew him as a boy. He wouldn’t. Besides, he’s always preferred other men, you know? I don’t know why the Watch bothered. It must have been one of them who killed my girl. Unless Pedro was into something I don’t know about. I hardly follow Howler business, but that boy was no criminal mastermind. Corrupt bastards,” she spat. “They’ll hang anyone for a crime, no matter if they did it, and call it justice.”

Corvo put a careful arm around her and hugged her as she cried. María leaned her head on his shoulder, grateful for the gesture. He rubbed her arm with his thumb.

“I miss her _so much,”_ María said.

“I know. I miss my daughter too,” he murmured.

“At least yours is _alive!”_

“I hope she is. I have to believe she is. If I can’t get her back...” His breath hitched. “I _will_ save her.” María scrubbed at her face with one hand.

“I remember when Isabel took sick. There was a bad bloodfly fever outbreak that summer. We had to send her to quarantine, and she was terrified, but what could we do? We worried over her every day; they wouldn’t let anyone visit. Then one day they came and told us… She was only sixteen. It’s horrible, not knowing.”

“It happened right in front of me,” Corvo said.

“What?”

“The coup. Delilah walked in, and I couldn’t protect her … that was my _job_ , wasn’t it? But Delilah turned her to stone right in front of me, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.”

 _“What?”_ María sat up straight, staring at him. Corvo met her eyes, his jaw tight.

“Delilah _‘Kaldwin’_ is a witch,” he said. “She turned my daughter into a statue while I watched. I don’t know why it wasn’t me, it _should_ have been me – but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to find a way to bring her back.” From another man she’d never have believed a word of it, but…

“It’s all true, isn’t it? All the stories about you,” she said, before she could stop herself.

“Not all of them,” Corvo said grimly. “But enough.”

“Your daughter is Emily Kaldwin…” The realization broke over her like a splash of cold water.

“Yes,” Corvo said.

“And her mother… oh. Shit. Corvo, I’m so sorry.” His eyes were a million miles deep.

“Jessamine died a long time ago,” he said, but his voice was rough.

María hugged him. Corvo hugged her back, one-armed and rather weakly, but he was there. She felt him press his lips against her hair.

“I miss her. I miss them both every day,” he mumbled.

“I know,” María said.

They sat like that for some time, holding each other. Corvo didn’t cry, but María could feel him taking slow, deliberate breaths, and he clutched at the back of her shift with his good hand in something resembling desperation. It took a long time for his heartbeat to slow. Eventually they drew apart. Corvo left his hand on her shoulder for a moment before pulling away.

“You look as tired as I feel,” María said, trying for a smile. She wasn’t sure if she succeeded. Corvo nodded wearily.

“Damn Karnacan heat,” he said. María reached up tentatively and brushed the hair out of his eyes. Corvo allowed it. Was it her imagination, or had he leaned into her touch just a little bit? She wanted to run her hand down his cheek, but she didn’t quite dare.

“You don’t – ” she began.

“I should – ” Corvo said at the same time. They looked at each other ruefully.

“I should get back to bed,” said Corvo.

“Oh, of course,” María said, blushing a little. She’d been about to invite him to share her bed for the night – not _for_ anything, obviously, _just_ to avoid the stairs – but… “Do you need help on the stairs?”

“I _think_ I’ll be fine,” Corvo said, sounding a little uncertain.

“Let me go down ahead of you so I can catch you if you fall,” María said.

“Alright.” Corvo looked perhaps the tiniest bit relieved.

So they made their way down the stairs together in the dark, María easily, Corvo gingerly, his good hand in hers for support although he hardly leaned on her. María walked him to his room in the dark – strange how quickly it went from Isabel’s room to his, she thought – and they paused in the doorway. The house was so quiet. She heard his lips part softly and fought down a sudden rush of nervousness.

“Goodnight,” Corvo said.

“Yes, sleep well,” said María, throttling the urge to reach up and kiss him, and went back upstairs to bed.

* * *

Alone in her room, María blew out the candle, and then shut her door despite the heat. She stripped out of her shift and flopped naked onto her bed and snuggled a little against the pillows. Antonio hadn’t been her first; she’d been with a few people before she met him, men and women (it was always good to test the waters, she thought.) But he’d been her best, at least until now. All else being equal, Corvo Attano was by far the handsomest person she’d ever had in her bedroom. If only she’d actually _had_ him.

Was it rude to think about Corvo this way? María found she didn't care. She slipped a hand down between her legs. If only he weren’t injured, if only he wanted her back… If she had kissed him downstairs he could have pressed her against the wall, his tongue delving into her mouth – if she had climbed into his lap in this bed, holding his face between her hands – if he came in right now and saw her, thighs parted, touching herself, his name on her lips, if he crossed the room in two strides and bent over her, pressed his fingers inside her and kissed her and made her beg him to take her, if she could feel him thrusting into her, moaning her name in her ear as he came –

María climaxed with a gasp, her back arching as her muscles went tight. _Fuck that’s good._ She couldn’t help but imagine falling asleep in his arms, his breath soft in her hair, and then waking up beside him, kissing him awake and fucking him slowly and gently as the morning sun streamed through the windows and lit up his skin with its early gold. More than anything, she wanted to taste him.

She rolled sleepily onto her side and drifted off, wishing for the feel of Corvo in bed beside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:
> 
> Sra. = Señora  
> cariño = a term of endearment, can be translated based on tone/context as e.g. "dear", "darling", "baby". Literally means "affection"
> 
> Warning for a brief mention of child death in this chapter.

_Sunshine poured in through the window, heady and sweet as golden Gristolian mead. Corvo smelled coffee and wood smoke. He sat at the kitchen table and the household hummed with life around him. Emily was at his elbow, coloring and kicking her feet against the rungs of her chair, ten years old again. She felt him looking and smiled up at him, nothing guarded in her eyes at all, the way it had been before. Two teenage girls were in and out of the room, up and down the stairs, chattering to each other. Corvo felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down; a young boy with a mop of dark curls clambered up into his lap._

_“Can I eat breakfast here, papá?” he asked. Corvo kissed the top of his son’s head._

_“Maybe, but let’s see if your mamá needs any help first.”_

_“You_ always _burn the food, papá,” Emily said, and his heart squeezed in his chest to hear her call him that. She’d called him ‘daddy’ when she was very young, before he and Jessamine had taught her not to, but ‘papá’ was what Serkonan children called their fathers. Corvo rose, setting his son gently on the floor._

_“Not always,” he defended himself. “Besides, she might need help cutting something up!”_

_María stood at the stove. Her hair was loose, no gray in it at all, soft sable curls cascading down her back. She laughed at him over her shoulder. “I’m alright, cariño,” she said. But Corvo came and stood behind her anyway, slipping his arms around her waist and leaning his chin on her shoulder. He felt a little flutter under his hands, the delicate kick of a baby newly quickened. Corvo smiled and kissed María’s neck; she leaned into him comfortably and flipped her wheatcakes, then lifted them out of the pan, so neatly, one by one._

It hurt to wake up. Corvo clung to the dream desperately, but drifted into wakefulness despite his best efforts. He dozed for awhile, trying to get back to it. Emily, María… He ached. Not for the first time, he wished Jessamine had never been Empress, that he’d never been Lord Protector, that Emily had been born to two lowborn lovers somewhere safe, and had grown up without the constant threats of war and politics hanging over her. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it all, not when it meant having Emily for a daughter, but to have her here with a gaggle of siblings, to see María without her heart broken…

Corvo sat up, scrubbing at his face with his good hand. What was he thinking? Nonsense, that was what. He shook off the last vestiges of sleep resolutely, putting the dream out of his mind. It didn’t matter how close he’d come to kissing María last night. It didn’t _matter_ that he’d never meant to tell her the truth about Emily or Delilah. Besides, at least now he was sure that she’d never hand him over to the Duke, or the Abbey, or the Watch, since she hated them all. It was amazing how little an Empress mattered to someone like María, who lived or died by the rule of people far closer to home. It was easy to forget that, living in Dunwall. The look in her eyes when she’d told him about her youngest daughter…

Corvo threw off his blankets and stood, cross with himself. _It’s just physical attraction,_ he told himself, crushing the little whisper of a thought that said it wasn’t true. _Don’t get caught up in it._ He didn’t have time for dalliances, and _certainly_ not for anything more. All that mattered was getting to the bottom of Delilah’s coup, and then returning to Dunwall as fast as he possibly could. He shuddered to think what the usurping Empress was up to there. He had to get home, he _had_ to sort this out and return to Emily. If only he hadn’t fucked up and gotten ambushed; if only he was younger; if only his body wasn’t betraying him. Corvo gritted his teeth and began to dress; the pain was less than it had been yesterday. That was cause for some cautious optimism. He’d managed the stairs last night. Maybe he would be walking even better this morning.

María was sitting at her kitchen table, munching sleepily on a bowl of porridge. Her hair was in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. Corvo refused to picture her in the shift she’d worn last night, the curve of her bare shoulders, her skin so soft under his hands… _Stop it._ He nodded to her by way of greeting.

“Morning,” she said. “There’s more in the pot. Or – oh.” She started to rise.

“I’ll get it,” Corvo said. He _was_ walking better. He resolved to start pushing himself today; he wanted to know how well he could move after a week of mostly bed rest. He fetched himself a bowl and spoon and then joined María at the table with his breakfast. She met his eyes, then looked down again, blushing a little. Embarrassed about last night, maybe? Well, she wasn’t alone. Corvo schooled his face to blankness as he ate.

“Sleep well?” María said after a moment.

“Mm.” Corvo nodded, his mouth full.

María took a breath as if to speak, then let it out again. “How’s your hip?” she said finally.

“Better. Going to try walking more today,” Corvo said.

“Good! That’s good. Are you heading back to your ship soon, then?” He thought María looked a little downcast, maybe. He shrugged his good shoulder.

“Not for a few days, at least.” He needed to be able to move better. It wasn’t like he could just stroll on down to the docks, after all. He was going to have to go over the rooftops, probably after dark, just to slip past the guards. It would be a damn nuisance.

“I guess you can’t very well just walk on down and ask the Watch to let you by, huh?” María said. Corvo smiled at her a little. _She read my mind._ María frowned. “How are you going to manage it? It’ll take another week or two for your hip to be fully healed. But I’m guessing you want to leave sooner, and you’ve got to sneak past all the guards...”

“I have some advantages,” Corvo said blandly. María gave him a look.

“See, when I say you’re mysterious, this is what I’m talking about,” she said tartly. Corvo laughed in spite of himself. “You’re a man of many secrets, _Lord_ Attano.” He inclined his head in the most economical of bows, then went back to his porridge. María smiled at him, amused.

“I have another fitting this afternoon,” she said. “Make yourself scarce downstairs after lunch ‘til I call you?” Corvo nodded.

* * *

Corvo’s offer to help with the dishes was rebuffed in no uncertain terms. (“Your wrist is broken! It won’t get better if you don’t rest it. _Men!”)_ He decided to pick his battles and take the opportunity to walk a little instead. It had been about a week, but Corvo had never really explored María’s workroom. It sat at the back of the house, behind the kitchen: a long, thin room with big windows. The sun shone in brightly, and it held a worktable, a spinning wheel, a few dressmaker’s dummies, and a treadle sewing machine, which Corvo examined with interest. It gave him a good opportunity to crouch at any rate, a maneuver that his hip did not much like, but still allowed. That was progress.

Around lunch, María shooed him upstairs. He’d been half-right: the house did have a third floor, but it was rooftop patio. Corvo took the second set of stairs a few times, stopping when his hip really started to hurt. After a silent debate over whether it was ruder to sit on María’s bed or go snooping through her house looking for somewhere else to sit, he decided to chance the bed he’d already sat on and settled himself in the master bedroom.

As Corvo rested, he let his mind drift. Fretting about Emily was so easy, but it wouldn’t accomplish anything. He was walking better than he’d hoped today, and he thought he’d be able to make it back to the Dreadful Wale soon. (What a name for a ship. ‘The Dreadful Wale.’ Meagan was an odd duck, that was certain.) And once he was back, they'd be able to get on with things. He was worried about his wrist. Shooting a pistol was so high-impact, and his crossbow wasn’t much better. It wouldn’t heal well if he did too much fighting too soon, but how long could he really afford to wait? Not for the first time, he wished for one of those wrist-mounted crossbows Daud’s Whalers had used. Damned assassins, but they’d had some clever weaponry.

A knock came at the door, and María answered it. He could hear the polite cheerfulness in her voice that people put on for their customers.

“Hello Pilar! Please, come in.” María chatted with her visitor, their voices fading into an indistinct babble as they left for the back of the house, away from the stairwell. She was a hell of a woman, wasn’t she? A widow who’d lost six children, still living her life, supporting herself alone. How many people would have simply curled up and died after all that? But she hadn’t given up. Sure she was angry sometimes, bitter sometimes, but there was a fire in her. And she was a damned good seamstress, at least if the fine, tidy scars along his arm and leg were any judge. Corvo couldn’t imagine going on after all she’d been through. If he lost Emily… He couldn’t even stand to think about it. How was Emily? Did she know where she was? Did she know how long he’d been gone? 

Damn, he was fretting about her again. Corvo could almost hear her voice. _Stop worrying about me, Dad. I’m fine! Don’t you have something more important to do?_ And he would always tell her he was the Lord Protector, so of course he didn’t, and if she was more joking than angry, she’d stick her tongue out at him. Fuck, he missed his daughter. To go from seeing her every day to making the journey all the way to Karnaca without her… It was like a knife between his ribs every time he thought of her. Emily, a woman grown, but still his little girl. He knew she’d been seeing that Wyman fellow; he seemed nice enough. Corvo wondered if the lad knew what had happened to Emily, what he was doing now. Did he hope to help her? Briefly he entertained the notion that Wyman might get to her first, might rescue her before Corvo made it home, and he might get there to find her free and safe, and let her yell at him for putting himself in danger for no reason… Corvo basked in the daydream. _My darling girl. Everything I trained you for, and it still wasn’t enough._ He’d never meant for her to have to rely on others for her safety, not even him.

And now here he was, halfway across the Empire, convalescing in a stranger’s house. _Much good may I do Emily as Lord Protector, huh?_ But María wasn’t really a stranger, not anymore. Were they friends, him and her? He’d only known her a week or so, but she’d bound his wounds, seen him naked, hauled him to the toilet so he could take a shit, fed him from her own two hands. She asked after his welfare every day. She confided in him about the people she’d lost. He remembered what the Heart had whispered to him: _She has lost so much… She is not yet bitter… She sees you._ Suddenly, viscerally, he remembered his dream from that morning, the feeling of María in his arms, that little fluttering kick under his hand.

Corvo clenched his fists, then relaxed his left hand hastily when his broken wrist twinged. He needed to stop thinking about her that way. _No harm in thinking,_ he’d decided, and then told her secrets she never ought to know. He wished he could just leave today, right now, slip out through the balcony doors and down to the water. He could have managed it so easily if he hadn’t been injured, but Corvo was having enough trouble walking, let alone climbing or crouching. Three times up and down the stairs today and his hip was already hurting more than he liked. Every day he stayed here compounded the danger to María, and his little infatuation certainly wasn’t helping.

He was going to come back to check on her later, he realized. He’d drop by periodically as long as he was still in Karnaca. If something happened to María on his account… The depth of fear he felt at the thought was – well. She didn’t deserve to be hurt just because she’d helped someone. If the Watch came for her, or the Overseers… Corvo knew full well what they were capable of. María was a brave woman, but she was no fighter. He thought of her smile, her steady brown eyes, the way she watched him so closely when she thought he wasn’t looking. No, he wouldn’t abandon her to the Duke’s tender mercy. If only he could get her out of Karnaca entirely, spirit her away to somewhere safe, or take her with him when – 

_Stop right there, you idiot,_ he told himself sharply. He was here for Emily, and _only_ Emily. María had accepted the risks when she’d rescued a stranger, he thought, ignoring the guilty twisting in his gut. Corvo would do what he could for her, but he had to be reasonable. He couldn’t lose sight of his goal. _What if you could do both?_ that traitorous little part of him whispered. _You could look after María and save Emily, if you were willing. Don’t you owe her?_ Corvo ground his teeth. The whole notion was ridiculous. He was _busy._ Besides, María had a whole life here, her home, her community. How could he even begin to ask her to leave with him? Would he really be so selfish as to – 

Someone knocked on the front door. Corvo blinked. _Another fitting? That was fast._ But he heard María’s voice from downstairs, perplexed. All was quiet. Then came another knock, and María bustled down the hall to the front door. Corvo heard it open.

“Meagan?”

“Sra. Montero,” Meagan said by way of greeting. She was back! Corvo started to get up, then stopped himself, remembering María’s client downstairs.

“I’m _so_ sorry, I must have double booked. I’m seeing someone for a fitting right now; would you mind waiting?” María sounded worried, but Meagan was quick on the uptake as ever.

“It’s no problem. I was early,” she said.

“Oh, good. Oh, Pilar! I’m so sorry, I’ll be right there.”

“Of course.” The client’s voice was rather chilly.

“Meagan, you’re welcome to wait here, or upstairs if you want.”

“Thanks.”

“Here, Pilar, let me finish pinning that up.” And Corvo heard footsteps heading back towards María’s workroom. 

“You never let _me_ wait upstairs,” the client said waspishly, trailing behind her.

After a moment, Meagan’s feet creaked on the stairs.

“There you are,” she said, leaning in the doorway. There was a small satchel slung over her shoulder.

“Come in and shut the door,” he said quietly, and Meagan complied.

“You look comfy, old man,” she said.

“Well enough,” Corvo said.

“You screwing her already? That was quick,” Meagan said drily. Corvo’s eyebrows shot up. Meagan threw up her hand.

“I was just asking! Shit.”

“Uh huh,” he said.

“So, how are you doing?” she asked.

“Been better. Hip’s still giving me some trouble. Give me a few days.”

“Everything closed up alright?”

“Yes,” Corvo said.

“Good. I brought you something.” Meagan set her satchel on the floor and dug in it, coming up with a red elixir and a couple of remedies. Corvo swung his legs off the bed, grimacing as his wounds protested the sudden movement.

“Don’t get up, old man. I just thought these might give you the boost you need. This elixir came out of my stores, but don’t worry about the remedies – Dr. Hypatia made at least a dozen, so I just swiped some from her. Here, take’em. Let’s set a date to get you back on the Wale.”

“Thank you,” Corvo said, meaning it. Elixirs weren’t much good for healing a bad wound properly, but they could help with bleeding and pain. It would keep him moving, and the remedies would give him the magic to get where he needed to go. He couldn’t very well ask María to buy him something expensive like this, but it was what he needed to make it back to the Wale and get on with things.

“So, when should I pick you up?” Meagan asked. Corvo thought for a moment.

“Meet me at the docks, a week from tonight. Same place.” That should give him enough time, he hoped. The elixir would make up the difference. It would have to.

“Sounds good. You watch yourself,” Meagan said. She set the vials on the bedside table and rose, slinging her satchel back over her shoulder. “I’ll see you then, old man. And hey…”

“What?”

“You _sure_ you’re not screwing her?”

 _“Meagan…”_ Corvo growled.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Meagan slipped out of the room, and Corvo scowled after her. Meagan was treading a little too close to the truth for his liking, however one-sided that truth might be. Not that he’d ever use a word like ‘screwing’ to describe (a child, newly quickened and kicking under his palm) –

Corvo rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to rein in his unruly thoughts. María and Pilar’s footsteps sounded in the hall as Meagan descended the stairs.

“Thanks again!” María was saying. “I’ll have this for you by the end of the week – oh, Meagan. Perfect timing.”

“Have a nice day, María,” Pilar said coolly.

“You too!” Corvo heard the door open, then close.

“Bitch,” María muttered. Corvo got up and headed for the stairs, limping somewhat, to his chagrin.

“She gave me one hell of a look just now,” Meagan was saying.

“She does that. Pilar… well, she pays,” said María. Meagan snorted.

“Right.”

“Corvo,” María said, and smiled. “How’s your hip?”

“Overdid it a little,” he said with a grimace, making his way into the kitchen to sit down.

“Are you alright?” María asked. Corvo nodded. Then she turned to Meagan. “Would you like to stay for – ?”

“I should get going,” Meagan said uncomfortably.

“Alright. I’ll just tell Pilar you canceled if she’s watching, I guess.” Meagan raised an eyebrow. “I have nosy neighbors,” María said.

“Right… Well. Thanks for watching Corvo for me. Here, take this – ” Meagan dug in a pocket and came up with a small, clinking purse.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” María said politely.

“Sure you could. It’s his money,” Meagan said. María looked at Corvo. Meagan pointed at the pouch and mouthed, _It’s your money!_ Corvo just laughed.

“Take it,” he said.

“Well, alright then. Thank you.”

“Attagirl. I better be going. Evening,” Meagan said.

“Goodbye,” said María. Meagan shut the door.

“She doesn’t like strangers much, does she?” María said, bemused.

“She doesn’t like _people,”_ said Corvo.

“Oh. Well.” María tossed the pouch and caught it with a satisfying clink. “What do you want for dinner?”

* * *

Corvo Attano was an enigma, María decided. The night before last he’d sat with her in the dark, confided in her, and held her while she cried. Now he was distant, even more taciturn than usual, (which was really saying something,) but somehow always underfoot. She kept having to stop him from sweeping the floor or doing the dishes, chasing him off whenever he tried to do chores, which she was certain would only make his wrist worse.

“You have to rest!” she scolded, taking the broom away from him.

“I am,” Corvo grumbled. He didn’t fidget – Corvo Attano wasn’t the sort of man who fidgeted, María suspected – but he obviously wanted to. _She_ wanted him to sit or nap or maybe eat something, but he left to climb the stairs again instead. He wasn’t limping the way he had been yesterday; she supposed that was good. A man his age didn’t need a mother hen, but he was so restless. She worried he’d push himself too hard to heal properly.

Still, she had her own work to do: Pilar’s dress, Sra. García’s mending, and new trousers for the Flores boy, who was growing like a weed. She could hardly hover over Corvo every second of every day, so she retreated to her workroom and sewed steadily. María would have to head to the draper’s soon; she was out of the blue twill again.

The heat had still not broken, so they had a cold dinner that night: bread and fruit, cheese and wine. With any luck it would rain soon, María thought. Corvo insisted on putting away the dishes for her once she’d washed and dried them, and María let him since he could do it one-handed. He wished her a soft goodnight, perhaps the tenth word he’d spoken all day. María wanted to ask him if something was wrong; she wanted to touch him again. She didn’t.

“Goodnight, Corvo,” she said.

The next day, he came and found her in her workroom. María was at the table, sewing buttons onto the front of Pilar’s new dress. She glanced up as he entered.

“Do you need something?” she asked. Corvo looked a little ashamed.

“No,” he said, pulling out the other chair and sitting. He leaned his elbows on the table. María heard him sigh.

“I’ve been a poor guest,” he said.

“Nonsense.”

“I worry for you,” Corvo said. María looked up at him, a little surprised. Did he think he was hurting her feelings by being taciturn…?

“My presence here puts you in danger, more than you know, I think,” he continued. _Oh,_ she thought. _That._

“I’m not going to throw you out, Corvo.” She’d already had this debate with herself, and had decided to help him. She had no intention of changing her mind now, no matter what he said.

“I shouldn’t have told you what I did, the other night. The less you know about what I’m doing in Karnaca, the safer it will be for you,” Corvo said, holding her eyes with his, brow furrowed in honest concern.

“But no one knows you’re here,” María pointed out.

“That we know of. Every day I stay here, I put you at risk.”

“I thought Meagan wouldn’t be back for another three days. What are you getting at?” María asked. Corvo looked down at his hands, folded together on the tabletop.

“I…” He sighed. “Nothing, really. I’d just hate for anything to happen to you. On my account, I mean.” Well, that was sweet. María still thought he was making a mountain out of a molehill, though.

“We’ll be careful. I’m sure everything will be fine,” she said soothingly. Corvo’s mouth tightened.

“I hope so,” he said.

* * *

The heat broke that night with a sudden storm. María sat on her roof, on the lip of the stairwell under the awning, and watched the rain pour down in sheets. The wind was cool, chilly even; she lifted her hair off her neck, and the air caressed her like a lover. She sighed contentedly.

“María?” A flash of lightning illuminated Corvo, standing below her on the stairs.

“Come sit,” she said once the thunder faded, and he settled himself beside her. He moved better every day, she thought. She was perhaps a bit sorry – not that he was healing, that was good! But he would leave her soon. She’d grown to like the tall, quiet man - secrets, scars and all. He was polite and thoughtful, so grateful and sincere, and his looks certainly didn’t hurt, either.

“Thank heavens for a summer storm,” María said.

“Mhmm.” Corvo lifted his face to the breeze.

“It’s just been so fucking hot,” she complained.

“It almost never storms like this in Gristol. I’ve missed it,” Corvo said.

“I always loved thunderstorms as a girl. I still do. The lightning and thunder, it’s all so dramatic.”

“Full of sound and fury,” Corvo murmured. It sounded as if he were quoting something, but María didn’t recognize it.

“Exactly,” she said. “And then it cools down afterwards.”

“We used to watch the lightning over the harbor and try to guess which boats would sink,” Corvo said.

“‘We’?” María asked.

“My sister and I.”

“I never knew you had a sister,” she said, surprised.

“I haven’t seen her in some forty years,” said Corvo.

“You must write, surely.” But he was shaking his head.

“She left Serkonos to marry, and…” He waved a hand, fingers fluttering off into the wind.

“I’m sorry,” María said. “I hope she’s well.”

“So do I,” said Corvo.

They watched the storm in silence awhile. The rain rippled down across the city, making the lights wink and flicker. María felt herself growing cold, but she didn’t want to go back downstairs. Corvo spoke a little easier when they sat together in the dark, let her get a little closer, and she didn’t want the moment to end. Maybe – well, he was right there… _Nothing ventured, nothing gained,_ María thought, and leaned her head carefully on Corvo’s shoulder. He went very still.

“I’m cold,” María said, hoping her nervousness didn’t show in her voice. Corvo was still for the briefest moment, and then reached out and wrapped a ginger arm around her shoulders. María snuggled gratefully against him. Corvo rubbed warmth into her arm.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” María said. Another bolt of lightning split the sky. Corvo was looking out at the windswept city, María saw; his face was impassive, but his arm was tight around her.

“What was it like for you in the Batista as a boy?” she asked. Surely that was a safe enough question. And to her surprise, Corvo told her. He spoke of his mother and sister, of growing up poor, teaching himself the sword from a young age, fighting first with sticks, then blades, watching the guardsmen train. A hardscrabble existence, María learned, never knowing where his next meal would come from, dodging the Watch, picking gangsters’ pockets to put food on his mother’s table.

María traded her own stories for his. She’d been far better off than Corvo, if lonely: María was her mother’s only babe who’d lived past three. Her parents were simple tradespeople. She’d married young and hoped for little more than a happy family and a decent income. For years she’d had both, then, eventually, neither. Her life didn’t make for nearly as interesting of a tale as Corvo’s, but he listened attentively nonetheless.

The rain slowed as they talked, then stopped, the thunder and wind rolling on inland, leaving only cool air behind. The moon came out. It was waxing towards full and seemed very bright after the dark of the storm. It was late; the city was quiet.

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if you’d never left Serkonos?” María asked.

“Sometimes,” Corvo said. He sounded a little wistful.

“Do you regret leaving?”

“No. If I’d stayed here, I wouldn’t have Emily.” María nodded, her cheek still pressed against his shoulder.

“Of course,” she said.

“What about you? Any regrets?” Corvo asked.

“Oh, so many. And none at all… I only wish I still had my children.” María looked out dry-eyed over the rooftops of Karnaca. Corvo squeezed her tight, saying nothing. What was there to say, after all? It was too late for her and her family. Corvo, though – he was here to save his daughter. María didn’t understand the particulars of his plan, and she didn’t need to. She was simply glad to help as best she could. Corvo would heal and be on his way, and she would probably never see him again, but… 

_Emily is lucky to have him,_ she thought.

* * *

They seemed to turn a corner after the night of the storm. Corvo was more forthcoming with her after that; he was still a closemouthed man as a rule, but María thought that was just his way. He helped out around the house as best he could and she let him, seeing how restless he was. The following afternoon, she found him in the hall, doing drills with a _sword_ of all things.

“Where on earth did you get that?” she demanded, surprised. Corvo didn’t have a sword, just that heavy knife of his – but he was looking at her oddly.

“I’ve always had it. You kept it for me,” he said.

“I didn’t!” she insisted. Corvo spun the sword around his hand instead of arguing, and María watched in shock as it collapsed in on itself.

“How is that possible?” she said.

“A scholar made it for me years ago,” he said, extending the blade again and holding it out for her to examine. María peered at it, seeing the fine joins spaced regularly down the blade.

“Isn’t it weaker than an ordinary sword?” she asked. Corvo shrugged.

“It’s reinforced.” María knew nothing at all about metallurgy, so she didn’t press further. The blade was beautiful even to her untrained eye, with a delicately crafted hilt and fine swirls under the surface of the steel. It had a grace and strength only matched by Corvo himself, she thought, watching as he returned to his drills in the hall, slowly at first, then faster. María knew even less about swordsmanship than she did about smithing, but even she could see the skill and surety in his movements, the way he shifted his weight as he moved. It was like a dance whose steps he’d done so many times that they were written on his bones.

He really was a fine figure of a man, only recently past his prime. She’d known he was well-built from the start, but now she saw his speed and grace, his lean form shaping itself into elegant lines and curves as he moved, the sword in his hand turning to liquid silver, becoming part of him. _This_ was the Lord Protector in her hallway, bodyguard to the Empress of the Isles, a great black-eyed hawk of a man who moved quick as a whip-crack and as smooth as cream. The only flaw in the picture before her was his clothing, her critical seamstress’ eye couldn’t help but note. The cuffs of his shirt slipped down over his hands; his trousers were loose around those slim legs. María tugged at her lip. She’d fed him, bandaged his wounds, given him a place to rest his head – perhaps she had one more gift for Corvo yet.

* * *

“Are you sure? These are your husband’s, aren’t they?” Corvo asked, fretting a little.

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” María knelt beside him, adjusting the hem of his trousers. Corvo stood on a stool in María’s workroom, dressed in the clothes she had given him to wear: dark gray trousers and a wine-red shirt, both too big, as all the clothes she loaned him were. (“You need something that fits properly,” she’d said, thrusting the bundle of fabric into his arms, “so try these on and we’ll see what we can do.”)

“Antonio’s been dead five years. I’ve been cutting his things up for rags and scraps for ages. You may as well have these; at least they’re good quality.” María looked at his feet with a critical eye, then started pinning up the cuffs she’d made. Corvo held still for her as she worked; she was careful but efficient, her brown eyes level and intent, her mouth full of pins. Her clever hands tugged gently at his clothes, the fabric and her fingers brushing against him as she put a tuck into the waist of the trousers, and gathered up excess material around the body of the shirt. Their hands touched as she adjusted his sleeves and cuffs, and Corvo felt goosebumps rise along his arms. But María dropped his hand and stepped back to give him a quick once-over.

“There, that’ll do,” she said. “You change out of those and I’ll have them altered for you soon enough.” Corvo nodded and stepped down off the stool.

“Thank you,” he said. It felt inadequate, but his thanks were all he had to give. María smiled up at him.

“It’s nothing, really,” she said.

“No it’s not,” he told her, but she just flapped a hand at him and told him to go get changed.

Alone in his room, Corvo sat on the bed for a moment, cradling the Heart in one hand.

“She’s so generous, Jessie,” he murmured.

_She has a good heart,_ Jessamine said.

“I just don’t know how to repay her.”

_Don’t let go._

“Let go of what?” Corvo asked, squeezing the Heart a little, wishing – not for the first time – that it might give him a straight answer, just this once.

_She sees you. She sees you…_

Corvo stood, grumbling a little. He could play this game forever and get nowhere. He had to get  these clothes back to  María  before she came looking for him.  So he wrapped the Heart back up in the scraps of his coat with a sigh, then reached for the hem of his shirt.

* * *

The next two days saw Corvo’s steady improvement. His hip had healed enough to let him jog up and down a flight of stairs – only once, but still. He could crouch for minutes at a time, and he could traverse the house in relative comfort. His wrist was the only real problem, and Corvo had decided that he was just going to have to deal with it, because he was damned if he was waiting months on end for a lousy joint. If his wrist was fucked after this, so what? He’d have Emily back, and that was all that mattered. Corvo refused to entertain alternative possibilities. He _would_ get her out of that statue, or die trying.

After dinner on Corvo’s final evening with María, she gave him the altered shirt and trousers. They fit as well as anything the royal tailors had ever made for him. Corvo smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt. María was right – these were good quality. They might well have been her husband’s best clothes. Not as fancy as what he wore every day at the Tower, but finely-woven and well-tailored. This was probably one of the nicest gifts she had to give.

He fiddled with a cuff, listening to the soft sounds of her washing up in the kitchen. He didn’t want to leave; he was desperate to get going. The idea of taking María with him to Dunwall kept popping into his head at odd moments, watching her spin in the evenings, listening to her stories about her neighbors, telling her of his own childhood. That night on the rooftop, watching the storm with her… He’d fallen asleep with the ghost of her still nestled in the curve of his arm, a phantom head still leaning on his shoulder. Corvo was resigned to the feelings now, intending to simply ignore them until they dissipated. He could wait it out; he was patient enough.

In the meantime he’d be back on the Wale, or out searching for the answers he needed to free Emily. Corvo would check up on María when possible, but he didn’t intend to hover. With any luck María had been right from the start, and she’d have no trouble with the authorities at all. Corvo would have to be careful as he came and went. It was probably best to restrict his visits to nighttime, he thought. He thought wistfully of the last few days they’d spent together, enjoying the sunshine in her workroom, taking meals together, doing work around the house, keeping her company while she sewed… The clothes she’d altered fit so perfectly, the soft fabric tracing every line of his body. He imagined he could feel her hands in every stitch – fuck, he was doing it again. Corvo shook his head at his own folly and began to gather up his things. He paused for a moment to unwrap the Heart from the tattered remains of his old coat one final time, and hold her – it – in his hand.

 _Don’t let go, dear one,_ Jessie whispered. She sounded so sad. _She sees you._ Corvo sighed. The Heart had said little else since he’d arrived at María’s, and he was no closer to finding out what it really meant. He could stand there and ask Jessamine’s spirit for an explanation all night, but he didn’t have the time, and he doubted she had the answers. If only she could hear him a little better, speak a little more clearly… Corvo slipped the Heart into his pocket with a frown. Dwelling would have to wait for another time; he had places to be tonight.

Corvo headed upstairs to the master bedroom with the rest of his weapons and gear. He planned to leave from the second floor balcony and work his way along until he made it to the ventilation system on the end of the row, where he could get up over the gate and down towards the eastern docks. He was buckling on his sword belt when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He looked up. María stood in the doorway. Her hair hung loose, framing her face with those long, black curls. Her eyes were big and bright, and her shirt and trousers hugged her body comfortably. Corvo wanted to take her in his arms. He finished buckling his belt, and hooked his crossbow at his hip.

“You’re off, then?” she said. 

“Yes,” said Corvo.

“Through there?”

“I’ll head across the balconies a ways,” he said, slinging his bandolier over one shoulder and feeling for the buckle.

“That doesn’t sound safe,” María said.

“I’ll manage.”

“Are you sure…?” She looked worried. Corvo smiled at her.

“Trust me,” he said, and cinched his bandolier tight. Geared up, he rolled his shoulders experimentally. The magic of his bone charms settled in around him, a comforting weight. The gunshot wound didn’t feel too bad. He’d hold out as long as he could before using his elixir.

“Alright,” María said. She came to stand in front of him, reaching out one tentative hand to touch his arm.

“Corvo...” she said.

“María.” He put a hand on her shoulder and bent a little to catch her eye. “You saved my life. Thank you, for everything.” She smiled up at him, huge and glad. Corvo smiled back, something warm swelling in his chest.

“Will I see you again?” she asked, her smile fading. Corvo held her eyes.

“Yes.” It carried the weight of a promise. “I still owe you, remember?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Meagan – ”

“Shh.” To Corvo’s surprise, she fell silent. “I owe you,” he said. María nodded a little.

“Alright,” she said. Satisfied, Corvo squeezed her shoulder, then let go.

“Well,” he said, turning away, “I should – ”

“Wait!” María grabbed a fistful of his shirtfront, pulling him back towards her. Corvo had time for maybe half a second of surprise before she kissed him.

It was a quick kiss, a peck really, just a press of her lips to his, but the shock of it ran through his body as strong as anything he’d ever felt. He stared down at her, too surprised to react for a moment, and she flushed bright red under his gaze.

“Just – in case I _don’t_ – I wanted – I mean – ” María stammered, as flustered as any girl at her first Fugue Feast.

Corvo knew, rationally, that he ought to think about this. He ought to consider his mission, and María’s safety, and the reasons he’d refrained from kissing her half a dozen times before over the course of his stay in her home. He ought to leave right now, for both their sakes.

Corvo took her face in his hands and kissed her. María gasped against him and he _felt_ it, her chest pressed to his as he pulled her into his arms, tangling the fingers of his good hand in her hair, tasting her lips, her tongue, for the first time. He wanted to push her up against the wall and kiss her neck; he wanted to bear her down onto the bed and make her moan his name; he wanted and wanted, but he _had to go._ Corvo wished he could stop time and drag this moment on forever, but María broke the kiss and he chased her mouth with his for a moment before remembering himself.

“Corvo,” María whispered. He stood up straight, looking down at her: hair a little mussed, dark eyes shining, lips flushed from his kisses. She was so _fucking_ beautiful.

“You’ll see me again,” he vowed, and kissed her one more time, and then turned and strode out onto the balcony, donning his mask as he went, and Blinked away before he could change his mind. Back on her balcony, he heard María gasp a startled “What the _fuck”_ before he vanished down the row, into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD this chapter was a struggle. I hope it doesn't drag too much; I've been fighting with it for days. Slow intimacy-building stuff like this is really not my forte.
> 
> I have been informed by a doctor friend of mine that I got Corvo's wound care absolutely wrong and he has definitely died of sepsis at this point (sorry Corvo) so I'm gonna go back and revise that part of the story, both in this and earlier chapters, once I have the full thing posted. No accurate first aid in the second draft, we get blood poisoning like men. Or Corvo does, anyway. Whoopsie. But the story must go on, so for right now we'll just call it plot armor (plot antibiotics?) and leave it at that. 
> 
> PS Hi doctor friend if you're reading this! Idk your AO3 alias. But thank you so much for all your help!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:  
> Sr. = Señor  
> cariño/a = a term of endearment, can be translated based on tone/context as e.g. "dear", "darling", "baby". Literally means "affection"  
> Mi querida = my darling/my dearest

The next morning, Corvo’s lips still burned on hers. María could feel his hand in her hair, his arm around her waist, as easy as closing her eyes. She wandered through her day half-dreaming, and when Pilar accosted her in the market asking about that “strange woman” who’d “interrupted” her fitting the other day, María brushed her off as quickly as she could without being utterly rude. Some things weren’t worth discussing with nosy neighbors, even paying ones. She went home with summer squash and shrimp and mussels to make something nice for herself, and if Corvo happened to return, well. There would be some for him too.

He didn’t come.

The day after was quiet. María sewed; she had to make up time on Pilar’s dress after taking more than a day to alter those clothes for Corvo. She hoped he would come soon. He’d left something hot under her skin when he kissed her, something she hadn’t felt since she was young; she _wanted_ him, in that desperate way you can only want someone you’ve already touched. She sewed past sundown, working by candlelight, which was hell on her eyes, and thought of him the whole time.

He didn’t come.

So she went to the market for fish and greens and beer, chatted with her neighbors, reassured Pilar about her dress, tossed a few coins to the beggars heckling on the corner, and a few more to the children who called her Señora and laughed and played in the street outside her door. She hemmed the new dress; she swept her kitchen floor and made dinner for one. She could mope, she told herself, she could pine, she could wait forever, or she could live her life. Corvo still itched and ached under her skin, and she still thought of him, but she was an old woman now, old enough to put such things aside.

He didn’t fucking come.

María sat on her bed that night, one leg tucked up under the other, combing her hair by candlelight. _Tomorrow. I’ll start worrying about him tomorrow,_ she told herself firmly. She hadn’t wanted to start fretting so soon – Corvo had his own business to attend to, and had to get back to Meagan and the ship in any case. She couldn’t expect him to hover at her doorstep just because she wanted him to. Really she should give him at least a week, but… he was the Lord Protector to a deposed Empress. She knew he was in Karnaca on dangerous business; that much had been obvious from the moment she found him dying on the rocks.

 _Maybe he’s fine, and he just isn’t coming back,_ the awful little voice in her head whispered. _Maybe he just doesn’t want an old spinster like you._ María clenched her jaw and set the comb aside to braid her hair before bed. Would it be worse if he had died, or if he had simply left? The former, most likely, María thought – she’d lost a man before, but had never been abandoned by one like this. She liked to think she could handle being cast aside (as if a man were all she needed in her life – as if he could be the best thing about her) – but the death of someone else she cared for…

She’d only ever kissed him that one time. Did he feel the same way about her that she felt about him? That look in his eyes when he’d held her… and he’d promised, hadn’t he? He _said_ he’d come back. María might not have known Corvo Attano long, but she felt certain that he was a man of his word. She would see him again. She just had to. María realized she was sitting in bed, fiddling with the loose ends of her finished braid. She got up, shaking her head at herself as she looked for a hair tie. Now, where had she put it…

A soft sound behind her made her turn. And there was Corvo, large as life, carefully closing the doors to her balcony, that eerie mask of his in one hand, his hair tidy, his beard trimmed, terribly dashing in a suit of navy blue, and looking at her like, like –

“María,” he said, a little hoarsely.

“Corvo!” She ran to him, hair tie forgotten. “You came back!” Corvo swept her up in his arms. She could still feel the splint on his left wrist, nearly hidden under the sleeve of his fashionable jacket.

“I said I would.” Corvo held her tight. María grinned up at him, slipping her arms around his neck.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, which seemed grossly inadequate. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“I came as soon as I could. I didn’t mean to worry you – ”

“It’s alright,” María said, and kissed him.

It was even better than she remembered. There was no rush this time, no worry, no impending parting, only Corvo’s mouth on hers, the way his lips parted and his tongue darted out to taste her. He pushed her gently back against the wall beside the balcony doors and kissed his way down her jaw to her neck, and his teeth on her sensitive skin made her moan and clutch at his shoulders, her knees going weak.

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since I left you,” Corvo whispered in her ear.

“Oh, Corvo,” she breathed. He bit her earlobe gently and she gasped, so he did it again. His hands roved over her body greedily, tracing the curve of her waist and hip, fingertips just grazing the underside of her breast, tangling in her hair and pulling it free of its loose braid to tumble around her face in thick waves. Corvo traced a gentle thumb over her lower lip, his eyes burning.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. María kissed his thumb, then took it slowly into her mouth and sucked on it just to see Corvo’s breath catch and his mouth come open a little as he watched. His obvious arousal sent a thrill right through her. She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her breast, and Corvo bent to catch her mouth with his again. He bit María’s neck hungrily and she whimpered a little, half-undone already.

“I want these off,” María said, slipping her fingers under the shoulders of his jacket. Corvo shrugged out of it readily, but then his bandolier was in the way, and his belts, and he was _still_ dressed underneath it all.

“This outfit is damned complicated!” María complained, undoing his buttons. Corvo gave the little huff that was his laugh into her hair.

“I’ll do my clothes, you do yours?” he said.

“Right.”

Corvo stepped back. María walked over to her bed, crushing her hesitation at stripping in front of him. She was in her fifties; she’d borne six children. He knew that already, and he still wanted her. María tugged her shirt off over her head and found Corvo shirtless beside her, leanly muscled as she remembered, with salt and pepper hair across his chest and belly, looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Refusing to be distracted, María slipped out of her bra and then set to work on her trousers, until she stood naked before him while Corvo was still hopping around, trying to get his boot off. She laughed.

“Just sit down!” she said, and he did, sheepishly, and tugged his boots and trousers off with a bit more grace. María settled beside him, tucking her hair behind one ear, suddenly a little shy.

“It’s not fair,” Corvo said. “You’ve seen me naked so many times, but this is the first time I get to see you.”

“Well, here I am.” María laid back against the sheets and watched as Corvo drank her in, inch by inch, his dark eyes burning a delicious path across her skin. Then he reached down and lifted her up bodily, turning her so the both of them lay the right way down the bed rather than sprawled across it. María laughed in surprise when he moved her, but her breath caught and she swallowed hard when she saw the look in his eyes. And then he was on her.

Corvo kissed his way down her body, seemingly determined to taste every part of her. He bit her neck as he had before until she moaned; his lips filled the hollow of her throat; he sucked on her nipples until she whispered “Harder” and then he bit them gently and she said _“Harder”_ and he sank his teeth into her breast and she cried out and arched up against him. His mouth was soft on her ribs and warm on her belly and then he was between her legs, parting her folds with gentle fingers, and she whimpered and moaned to feel his tongue there, and then gasped as he slipped first one, then two fingers inside her. He found it so easily, that secret spot that made her writhe and beg. María lay with her legs half wrapped around him, moaning as he fucked her deeply with his one good hand, sending darts of pleasure up through her body until she clutched at the headboard and cried out “Please, please, Corvo, don’t stop!” And then she climaxed with a cry as the ecstasy bloomed inside her, and he didn’t stop until she struggled beneath him and gasped out “No more.”

They lay together quietly for a few minutes while María caught her breath. Corvo pressed a soft kiss into her belly and then looked up at her, his dark eyes hot with want. María ran her fingers through his hair.

“Corvo,” she murmured, just to say his name. Here he was, in her bed just how she’d imagined, and it was better than her fantasies could ever be. “Kiss me?”

He wiped his face off roughly with the back of one hand and then crawled up to kiss her passionately, and she could taste herself on his tongue, and it was perfect. Corvo brushed her hair out of her face and then kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her eyelids as she laughed.

“You’re sweet,” she said. He kissed her mouth again. “Fuck me,” María whispered, feeling him hard against her thigh.

“Say my name?” he murmured. That was easy enough.

“Corvo, please, fuck me, I want you to – _ah,_ Corvo, fuck!” And he groaned as he buried himself inside her.

He fucked her slowly at first, then harder as María drew her knees up and wrapped her legs around him, seeking that perfect angle where he could strike deep within her and leave her seeing stars. When they found it she cried out his name, but was rapidly losing the ability to form words as she lay there beneath him, the pleasure rolling through her in waves, Corvo’s face tight and openmouthed with arousal as he looked down at her. She reached a desperate hand down between them to touch herself and whimpered in time with his thrusts, feeling herself grow tighter and tighter around him as her climax drew closer.

“Corvo, don’t stop, I – ” she managed.

“Come for me, look at me, come for me,” he panted. Sweat gleamed on his shoulders and chest in the candlelight.

“Oh Corvo, oh fuck, I – _ah –_ ” And she came hard under him, her muscles tight and shuddering, struggling to keep her eyes on his face as her second climax wracked her body. She saw Corvo’s face change, his brows arch, and she felt him spend himself inside her with a groan that shot right through her.

“María,” he whispered, and kissed her.

“Corvo...”

“I have to lie down,” he murmured apologetically, and rolled off her with a sigh to lie on his back beside her. “That’s about all this damn arm can take for one day,” he said.

María snuggled against him, the aftershocks of her second orgasm still rippling through her.

“I’ll be on top next time,” she said, settling her cheek on his chest. Corvo laughed softly.

“Alright,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her snug against him. She threw one leg over his, draping an arm over his belly.

They lay quietly for awhile, catching their breath. María ran her fingers lightly through his chest hair; Corvo’s fingertips played across the skin of her shoulder. Eventually he shifted to kiss the top of her head, and she looked up at him, getting an excellent view of his chin and not much else.

“What happened after you left?” she asked.

Corvo sighed. María sat up a little, moving so she could prop herself up on one elbow and look down at him. Corvo toyed with a lock of her hair, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“I shouldn’t tell you. I don’t want you too involved in this; it could put you in danger,” Corvo said. María scoffed.

“I’m only in danger if your enemies know that I know.”

“María, don’t underestimate these people. Please.” Corvo cupped her cheek in his palm. “ _Please_ trust me. I’m going up against some powerful bastards here. It’s for your own safety.” She grimaced, then nodded, capitulating. Privately, she thought Corvo was being a little dramatic – did anyone even know he’d been here? She couldn’t imagine the Duke or the Abbey were spying on a seamstress in the Campo Seta, of all things, but she could see the worry in his eyes. It wasn’t as if she could force information out of him, anyway. The way he relaxed as she agreed made it almost worth it.

“Is there anything you _can_ tell me?” she asked. Corvo sighed.

“There were repairs to do on the ship. Meagan had to gather some information. And a friend is staying with us for awhile. She’s been… ill, and it’s best if she’s not left alone for too long,” he said.

“Is she doing better now?” María said.

“Yes,” said Corvo, and left it at that. María wrestled with the urge to pester him for details. It was so much _easier_ to be incurious about a stranger’s life than a lover’s. _Lover,_ she thought. Was that what Corvo was to her now? They’d known each other so briefly, but she couldn’t help but hope. She still knew so little about him, why he was here or what he was actually doing. He’d always been tight-lipped about it, ever since she’d met him.

“What _did_ happen the day that you got hurt so badly?” María asked. Corvo grimaced.

“I screwed up, walked right into an ambush. Damn careless of me. I could have died. Without you...” Corvo trailed off, running his fingers through her hair. “Thank you for saving me.” María kissed him. Corvo cradled her head in his hand, returning her kiss with feeling. When the kiss ended, she smiled down at him.

“It worked out pretty well for me in the end, I think,” María teased. Corvo gave her that tiny smile, and traced the curve of her lip with his thumb.

“Good,” he said, but his smile faded. “I have to leave in the morning.”

“Oh,” she said, her heart sinking. _Of course he has to leave! He has things to do, more important than playing house with_ you _,_ she told herself. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you,” Corvo said. María nodded unhappily. She’d expected that, but she didn’t have to like it.

“Can I at least fix you breakfast before you go?” she asked.

“I _can_ feed myself, you know,” Corvo said.

“ _Sure_ you can. My husband used to have a bit of jerky and a coffee and call it a meal. Men!” María said tartly. Corvo seemed to be trying to look offended and trying not to laugh at the same time. “Let me fix you something decent before you go off and do – whatever insane thing it is you’re up to.”

“Alright,” he said with an aggrieved sigh, but he was smiling again.

* * *

Corvo woke at dawn with María snoring softly beside him. He watched her sleep for a moment, brushed a little hair out of her face with gentle fingers. She didn’t wake. The surge of affection he felt was almost overwhelming. _Picked a hell of a time to meet someone,_ he thought, and sighed. He had to get going. For a moment he considered letting her sleep. He could slip out of bed, get dressed, gather his gear, leave her a note… She just looked so peaceful, and it was so early. But Corvo couldn’t break a promise to her now. He put a hand on her shoulder and she murmured a little in her sleep.

“María,” he said. “María? Wake up, cariña.”

“Hmm. Corvo?” María’s eyes flickered open; she smiled up at him sleepily. She looked so happy to see him that it made his heart ache.

“Good morning,” he said. María tugged him down for a long, slow kiss. Corvo slipped an arm around her and cradled her against him. She pressed herself close, tangling her fingers in his hair and curling one leg around his under the sheets. The feeling of her body against his was intoxicating, her thigh soft and supple in his hand, the warmth of her kindling a spark in his belly. Damn, she was distracting. Corvo broke the kiss regretfully and looked down at her; she lay back on the pillows, her breasts bared to the early morning light.

“What?” María said.

“I can’t stay,” Corvo told her. Fuck if he didn’t wish he could, though.

“What about breakfast?”

“I really have to get moving – ”

“On an empty stomach? You’re going off to get shot at again and you’re not even going to _eat_ first?” María was irate.

“I won’t get shot at if I’m _careful,”_ Corvo said, knowing it was probably a lie.

“Don’t you start. I’ll make you something quick, and you can make the coffee, Sr. I Can Feed Myself,” María said, poking him out of the way so she could get up. She pulled a shift on over her head and hurried downstairs. Corvo rose with a sigh, and looked around for his pants.

María knelt on the kitchen floor, building up the fire in the stove from last night’s embers. Corvo knew where the coffeepot was by now, and busied himself filling the kettle and grinding some beans. Soon enough the fire was lit, the water was simmering, and a pan was heating on the stove. María caught his hand in hers.

“You really can’t tell me what you’re doing?” she asked. Corvo shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Is it dangerous?” Corvo looked down at her sadly. He wasn’t going to lie to her now.

“Yes,” he said. María squeezed his hands tight.

“Be careful,” she begged, and kissed him. They only broke apart when the kettle started to sing.

María made quick work of eggs and toast while their coffee brewed, and then they sat down to eat together, passing the salt and jam back and forth quietly as Corvo wolfed his food. This _would_ be much better than going out on an empty stomach, he had to admit. He wished he could stay all day, and the next. If only things were different, if only Emily were safe and he weren’t a wanted man, he could enjoy long mornings at home with María, make love to her as the sun rose over the rooftops; they could eat together and then walk to the market hand in hand… Corvo shook off the daydream, unwilling to mope. He had to get to Jindosh, find Sokolov, keep moving forward. That was the only way to Emily now.

When he finished eating, Corvo excused himself to the toilet. He returned to find the dishes in the sink and the kitchen empty, and headed upstairs to gear up. María found him there, and Corvo felt a sudden rush of déjà vu at the sight of her standing in the doorway, watching him buckle his sword at his side.

“Hey,” he said. María came to stand beside him.

“How’s your wrist?” she asked. Corvo shrugged and reached for his bandolier.

“Fine,” he said. It hadn’t improved much at all, and it would undoubtedly be much worse once he got through Jindosh’s mansion. Not that it mattered; the only important thing was Emily. María gave him a narrow look, but seemed willing to let it drop. Corvo decided to change the subject before she changed her mind.

“Here, this is for you.” He searched through his coat pockets and came up with a small pouch – it contained all his remaining coin, but he certainly wasn’t going to tell María that.

“Corvo…”

“Please, take it. Not as payment. Just a gift, to say thank you,” he said earnestly. That much ought to cover the expenses she’d incurred while looking after him, with some left over; it would also be enough to get her out of Karnaca, if necessary. María weighed the pouch in her hand and looked up at him wide-eyed.

“Corvo, I can’t – this is too much!”

“ _Please_ take it,” he said. Corvo hugged her, words crowding in his throat. What could he say? _I’m worried you’ll be hurt because of me; I want you to get out of Karnaca; I can’t just leave you behind with nothing…_ María hugged him back, heedless of his bandolier.

“Why give me all this?” she asked quietly.

“I owe you,” Corvo said. He felt her shake her head.

“Bullshit. You’re worried you might not come back, aren’t you?” Her voice was small and miserable against his shoulder. Corvo rubbed her back.

“I might not. Don’t wait too long. Give me a few days, a week at most. If you don’t see me by then, it’s probably over,” he said.

“Don’t say that, damn it!” María squeezed him tighter, then pulled back to look up at him with fierce brown eyes. “You _will_ live through this. You _have_ to.” Her voice trembled a little; her eyes were overbright. Corvo looked down at her, his heart twisting in his chest. It was always like this, leaving the people you lo – the people you _cared for_ behind and walking into mortal danger. It never got any easier. Jessamine used to look at him just the way María was doing now: terrified and determined and furious in equal measure, grabbing two fistfuls of his coat and _ordering_ him to come back to her alive.

“I’ll do my damnedest,” Corvo said, and kissed her. María shook against him; he tasted tears on her lips. “I’ll come back if I can. I promise,” he told her.

“You’d better.” María pulled away, wiping her cheeks quickly with the heel of her hand, but the tears kept coming. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be this upset over…” _Over just one night?_ Corvo thought. _I know. I shouldn’t be this upset about it either, cariña._

“María…” He reached for her and she leaned against him, sniffling. Corvo shut his eyes and pressed his lips against her hair. He felt her sigh.

“It meant a lot to me – last night, with you,” he said.

“Me too,” she mumbled. Corvo wanted to take her back to bed, wanted to hold her ‘til her tears stopped, wanted to promise never to leave her side again. The sun was creeping ever higher over the rooftops. He had to meet Meagan. It was time and past for him to go.

“María,” he began.

“I know, you have to get moving.” She pulled back and looked up at him, the pouch of coin clutched in one hand. “Thank you for this. Just – _please,_ be careful.” Corvo bent to kiss her one last time.

“I will,” he promised.

María stood back and watched as he shrugged into his coat, then donned his mask and flipped his hood up. Fully dressed and armed, Corvo reached for the balcony doors.

“Corvo, I – ” She looked down at her hands, then back up at him, her eyes bright with feeling.

“Goodbye, María,” he said.

“Goodbye.”

And Corvo slipped out onto her balcony, and Blinked away.

* * *

He was back at sundown, staggering with fatigue, Sokolov’s dead weight heavy on his back. Corvo knew he shouldn’t bring the old man here, shouldn’t burden María with him; he knew he was putting her in more danger, but he was exhausted. Those clockwork soldiers were no joke. He needed stitches, food, and a chance to catch his breath. His wrist had started up a dull, throbbing ache that no amount of elixir could get rid of, and he was losing blood.

The Watch in Karnaca was getting too smart, too fast. They’d laid another ambush for him at the Lower Aventa carriage station, and Corvo was in no condition to deal with them, certainly not with an injured and unconscious geriatric in tow. So he’d barrelled straight through instead, taken the carriage one more stop across the water and made his way to María’s rooftop. Corvo stumbled down the stairs to her bedroom and laid Sokolov carefully on her neatly-made bed. He had just enough magic left to use his Dark Sight, so he did, and saw María downstairs with someone else. _Fuck. Hope I wasn’t too loud coming in._

“Who _was_ that woman, María?” It was that client of hers from the other day – Pe – Pi – something. Corvo couldn’t remember the name. The one María didn’t like.

“A ship captain. She’s in Karnaca for a bit, asked me to do some alterations for her. What do you think of the dress?” María had her customer voice on.

“She didn’t even stay for her fitting!”

“The dress, Pilar?” _Right, that was the name._ María sounded weary.

“And what about that strange man you brought home?” The pit dropped out of Corvo’s stomach. “There’s something odd going on around here, María. I intend to get to the bottom of it.”

“Pilar, I really don’t know what you mean. That man, he – ”

“I don’t know why you insist on picking over every body you find in the canal. It’s unseemly.”

 _“Pilar,”_ María said sharply. “It’ll be thirty coins for the dress. Do you need any further alterations?”

“I – no. No, it fits well. Thank you.” Her neighbor sounded annoyed. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is bad._ Long practice kept Corvo from pacing. He stood stock still in the bedroom, leaning on the wall beside the doorway, and listened.

“Wonderful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really do need to get dinner started. Thank you so much for stopping by.”

“Of course. Goodnight, María,” the neighbor said waspishly.

“Goodnight, Pilar!” Corvo heard the door open, then shut. María sighed heavily. She was alone then. Corvo gave the neighbor enough time to make it down the street, then slipped downstairs. María was leaning on her kitchen counter, drinking a bottle of beer. Her eyes widened as he stepped into the kitchen, and for a moment he thought she was going to drop her drink.

“Corvo!” she gasped, and was across the room in an instant, her hands hovering as she looked for somewhere unbloodied to touch him. “What _happened?”_

“It’s a long story,” he said. “Can you – ”

“Sit!” she said hastily, waving a hand at the table. Corvo started to take of his coat, wincing; María grabbed it and eased it off him carefully. He sat down with a grateful sigh.

“Get that bandolier off and I’ll see to those cuts,” she said. She bustled around, bringing him water, putting the kettle on, and hurrying into her workroom for fabric to cut into bandages.

“Bring a needle and thread,” Corvo called after her. María returned quickly with her hands full of cloth.

“I don’t have anything to give you for the pain if you need stitches...” she said.

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Really?” she said.

“I’ve been stitching my own wounds for years,” said Corvo. María raised her eyebrows, impressed, then set about divesting him of his shirt. Most of the blood on him was from shallow cuts and scratches, but a clockwork soldier had slashed his back badly, which was damned inconvenient. She hissed when she saw the wounds, but her hands were gentle as she cleaned them.

“I have a … friend upstairs,” Corvo said. “I left him in your room. I hope that’s alright. He’s unconscious.”

“I – does he need anything?” María took it in stride far better than he’d expected.

“Not now. There’s not much you can do for him.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll see to you first then.”

María stitched the deepest cuts on his back up carefully, asking no questions as she worked, and Corvo gritted his teeth through it. He’d learned to stitch himself up as a young man in the Guard, and it was bearable but never fun. At least María did a good job with it, he reflected. Once she’d finished with the stitches, she bandaged him carefully.

“Anything else I should look at?” she asked.

“No. I’ll manage the rest,” said Corvo.

“Alright. Do you need food? Are you staying the night?”

“I could eat,” said Corvo, ravenous. “If you’re willing to put us up tonight – ”

“Of course! It’s no trouble,” María said.

She went upstairs to check on Sokolov, pronounced him “smelly, but alive,” and then made dinner, shooting anxious glances at Corvo as he stripped out of his clothes and tended the rest of his wounds. She brought him clean clothes (“Leave these with me, I’ll mend them for you.” “I can take care of it myself,” Corvo said. “Nonsense,”) and then a plate of steaming chicken and rice with carrots and lemon, which Corvo more or less inhaled. By the time he’d finished eating his hands had stopped shaking and he felt much better, although his wrist was still kicking up a fuss whenever he moved his hand. Corvo ignored the pain resolutely. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but Emily. Well, Emily and María. She sat at the table, her empty plate pushed to the side, one hand on his arm. She looked terribly worried. That made two of them.

“María, about your neighbor…” Corvo said.

“Who?”

“The one who was here earlier. She was asking questions.”

“Pilar? You heard all that?” María rolled her eyes. “She’s just a busybody. She’s harmless.”

“Are you _sure?_ She mentioned me.”

“Oh, she doesn’t know who you are. She’s just making a nuisance of herself.” María flapped a hand dismissively.

“I don’t want you hurt, María. If she goes to the Watch – ”

“Pilar complained to the Watch because she didn’t like someone’s _flowerbeds_ last year. No one takes her seriously, least of all them.” Corvo sighed, rubbing his forehead with his good hand. He wished he could be so blasé about the whole thing, but if he came back here to find her hurt, or worse…

“Trust me, Corvo. I know my neighbors. Nothing’s going to come of her nonsense.” María squeezed his fingers, trying to reassure him. Corvo _had_ asked her to trust him, he supposed. He could at least extend her the same courtesy.

“Alright,” he said, worry clawing at his throat. There was nothing he could really do, beyond never returning here. Maybe María was right. Maybe it _was_ nothing. Corvo couldn’t do a thing about it tonight, in any case.

“Good,” María said briskly. She rose and collected their plates, giving him a stern look when he tried to help. “You _rest_. I’ll make up a bed for your friend.”

Corvo did have to help get Sokolov down the stairs; they’d decided to put him in Corvo’s old room, as it was next door to the toilet. But they managed it without tearing any of Corvo’s stitches, and in the end Sokolov lay tucked into bed comfortably, muttering to himself in his sleep. María left him some clean clothes – “He’ll be swimming in Antonio’s things, but it’s better than those awful rags,” she said – and a cup of water.

“Should I sit up with him?” María asked.

“He’ll be fine,” said Corvo.

“What if he wakes in the night?”

“He’s woken up in worse places.” A certain cage in the shed behind the Hound Pits Pub sprang to mind. But María still looked uncertain.

“If he’s really upset, he’ll make a racket and wake us,” Corvo said.

“Well, if you’re sure…” María said dubiously, and Corvo nodded.

“Alright,” she sighed. _On my own head be it, I suppose,_ Corvo thought.

“Let’s go to bed?” he said, taking María’s hand and squeezing it gently. She smiled up at him.

“Come on,” she said.

They settled into bed together rather carefully. Corvo relaxed into the mattress, the sheets soft against his skin. _Fuck, I needed this,_ he thought, endlessly grateful for the woman beside him. María gave a happy little sigh and took his hand.

“I’m so glad you came back,” she said.

“Even with company?” Corvo asked.

“Of course. I’m happy to help. And you – ” she squeezed his hand so tight “ – you’re here! You’re alright! Well, mostly.” Corvo pulled her hand onto his pillow and kissed her fingers. María stroked his cheek.

“Come here,” Corvo said. María scooted closer obligingly and pressed her lips to his. He curled his fingers through her hair.

“Mi querida,” he murmured. María kissed him again.

“My Corvo,” she said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how hard it is revising your own work. Man! Sokolov was going to be in this chapter but I'm struggling with rewriting the scene so he'll make an appearance next week. I hope you guys are enjoying this, I have zero ability to gauge the quality of my own writing while I'm in editing hell. At least they finally fucked though, right? :P


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:  
> cariño/a = a term of endearment, can be translated based on tone/context as e.g. "dear", "darling", "baby". Literally means "affection"  
> Mi querido/a = my darling/my dearest

María came awake slowly. Her sheets were smooth, her bed soft, and Corvo’s skin was warm under her hand. She opened her eyes. He slept soundly, his face half-buried in the pillow. His dark hair was mussed; the bandages on his arm and around his torso had shifted only a little during the night. There was a bruise coming up on his cheekbone. María curled her fingers over his forearm, smiling to herself. He was here, safe, alive in her bed and drenched in the morning sun.

María wanted to kiss him, but she didn’t want to wake him. She probably ought to get up and check on that friend of his, but she didn’t want to leave Corvo’s side. _Mi querido,_ she thought. How long would he stay this time? When would she see him next? And how long would it be before he left for good? She knew he would return to Dunwall eventually; in fact, he was making every effort to get back there as soon as possible. A treacherous little part of her wished he would stay, even though it would mean abandoning his daughter. María quashed the selfish thought firmly. She would give up far more than a lover for the chance to see one of her own children again. She could ask no less of him.

But how strange it was to lie in bed with the father of an Empress; how strange to hold the Lord Protector in her arms. María Montero, the fisherman’s wife, fucking Corvo Attano of all people. But Corvo wasn’t really a noble, was he? He was born a lowly citizen of Karnaca, just like her. He had earned a title and a place in court, but he was no pompous lord. Were Royal Protectors ever actually ennobled? María was a little hazy on the details. She’d never had any cause to consider it before.

What a fantasy, though – Corvo sweeping her off to Gristol, to a life of wealth and privilege. Satin gowns, household staff, one of those dreadful lapdogs that were all the rage amongst the rich ladies of Karnaca these days… María giggled at the mental image of herself with one of those absurd little furballs on a leash at her heel, her hair piled on top of her head, parasol in hand. What would it be like to be waited on, to eat fine food every day, wear expensive clothes, and have a rich, handsome husband make love to her every night on their silk sheets?

Internally, María was shaking her head at herself. She’d go mad inside a month with nothing to do, and she doubted even a rich woman’s life was so easy as that. Besides, how could she even begin to mingle with those high society vultures who surrounded the Empress and Corvo in Dunwall? Even if they didn’t hate her, (which they certainly would,) their company would be absolutely unbearable. The idea of living her life surrounded by useless fops who’d never in their lives worn a darned sock, let alone actually _darned_ one, was appalling.

The allure of the daydream though was simply… Corvo. To stay by his side, to wake every day with him in her bed… The idea of it made her ache with longing. It was childish, she supposed, to feel this way about a man she’d known less than a month. He was _incredibly_ handsome, which was probably making things worse, but it wasn’t just that. Corvo Attano was curiously gentle for a fighting man. He was soft-spoken, helpful, polite, and observant. He could be funny in his dry way, and he was more generous than she’d ever thought a rich man might be. He made her coffee; he swept her floor. He was a passionate and attentive lover.

She didn’t want to give him up. Just the thought of her life without him broke her heart. Strange how much things could change in a few weeks. Not that she’d been living in a state of perpetual bliss before she met Corvo. Things had been hard. She earned enough by taking in mending and making clothes and such for her neighbors that she could feed herself reasonably well, but she’d had little in the way of savings. She lived without electricity, a common comfort that nearly all of her neighbors could afford, and she was lonely. If she’d had any of her children still, she might have grandchildren by now, a family to live with and look after. She had friends in the neighborhood, but they didn’t make up for what she’d lost.

Did she only want him because of that? Was she simply starved for the touch of a lover and tired of living alone? Maybe she would have felt this way about anyone who’d stayed in her home and shown her kindness. Maybe it didn’t matter. Corvo would leave her soon, regardless of her feelings, and the sooner she accepted that, the easier it would be. The prospect of never seeing him again cut at her. Would things just go back to the way they were? This brief affair with the Lord Protector would be nothing but a memory, a dream. He would pass out of her life as suddenly and silently as he’d come into it, leaving nothing but a pouch of coins and María’s broken heart behind. 

_Now you’re just being dramatic,_ she told herself severely. _If you’re going to lie around and mope like a heartsick girl, you may as well get up and do something useful._ Decision made, María sat up. Corvo sighed and opened his eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said. He smiled up at her.

“It’s fine, cariña,” he said, and reached up with one sleepy hand to tug her back down for a kiss. María’s hair fell around them as she bent to press her lips to his and Corvo tangled his fingers in it, rolling onto his side and pulling her close. María curled one leg over his hip and he gripped her thigh in one large hand; she could feel him half-hard against her.

“Good morning to you too,” she murmured. Corvo gave his soft little laugh and kissed her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth. María rubbed herself against his length teasingly and he groaned a little in his throat. She definitely wanted to hear more of _that._

“How’s your back?” she asked.

“Let’s see,” Corvo said, and rolled over carefully. He settled back onto the mattress without so much as a wince. María sat up again and looked down at him where he lay, shining golden in the sun and wearing only his underthings. _Perfect,_ she thought, and pulled her shift off over her head. Corvo caught his breath as he watched. She would never, ever get tired of the way he looked at her, the way those black eyes seemed to drink her in like the finest of wines. María gathered her hair in one hand, twisting it over her shoulder to keep it out of the way. Corvo reached for her and she bent to kiss him, sliding one hand down his chest and into his shorts. He was fully erect now, and he moaned into her mouth as she wrapped her hand around his shaft.

Corvo grumbled a little when María broke the kiss and pulled away from him, but he stopped complaining when she pulled him free of his underthings and took him into her mouth.

 _“Fuck,”_ Corvo gasped, watching her take him to the root. It wasn’t bad at all; Antonio had been bigger. This was nice, really. María turned her attention to the task at hand, sucking him gently, slow and teasing as she worked her mouth up and down his shaft, her tongue playing softly over the underside of his dick and flicking up against the head. Corvo was panting, propped up a little on one elbow to watch her. She met his eyes and the look on his face had her instantly wet.

His fingers were in her hair again, but he wasn’t shoving her down onto him. It seemed like he just wanted to touch her. She took him deep into her mouth again and felt him twitch against her tongue, so she repeated the movement, down, then up, then a tantalizing pause, then down again, then up… María met his eyes as her mouth hovered over him for that long moment.

“Please,” Corvo gasped. María sucked him down and Corvo moaned helplessly, clutching at her a little. His legs were tense against the mattress; he twitched and trembled in her mouth.

“I can’t – I can’t – I – ” He was being polite, trying to warn her. María smiled a little around the dick in her mouth. She settled into a steady rhythm, and reached down with gentle fingers to stroke his balls. Corvo seemed to be past the point of words now. He watched her openmouthed, his eyes never leaving her face. His balls were already tight, but tightened up even more under her touch, and it was only moments before Corvo was crying out hoarsely as María swallowed his seed.

She sat up and wiped her mouth, feeling a little smug. Corvo sagged back against the pillows, panting.

“Careful, you’ll wake that friend of yours,” she said, pleased with herself.

“And whose fault will _that_ be?” he grumbled, but his eyes were soft and warm. “Come here.” María went to him gladly and Corvo pulled her down for a long kiss, his tongue snaking into her mouth, doubtless tasting himself on her lips. His hand caressed her breast, then pinched her nipple and twisted softly, which made her whimper with pleasure.

“My turn,” he murmured.

“Oh, Corvo, you’re hurt! You don’t have – ”

“Shh,” he said, and rolled them both over, reaching a slow hand down between her legs. His eyes burned when he touched her and found her already dripping wet and swollen.

“Fuck, you like that, don’t you,” he said, his voice rough, and sank two fingers into her without preamble. María cried out in pleasure when he pressed against that spot inside her, and Corvo smiled wickedly.

“ _Now_ who’s going to wake the neighbors?” he said.

“I – _ah! –_ I blame you,” María gasped, arching her back helplessly. Corvo’s thumb was moving against her in time with his fingers now, slick with her arousal, and words were quickly becoming something she could no longer manage. María pressed her face into his neck as waves of pleasure rolled through her. She could feel his heartbeat, quick and excited, and the way he caught his breath as she shuddered under him while he worked her with his hand. Corvo wrapped a few locks of her hair around his fingers and then pulled her head back, forcing her to look up at him. María felt herself clench down involuntarily on him and bit her lip hard, trying not to cry out. The strength of him, holding her down, not letting her move… 

“Is this alright?” Corvo asked, ever the gentleman. María couldn’t remember when she’d last been this aroused. She nodded and Corvo’s eyes smoldered. He kissed her, then pulled back a little to look down at her, never ceasing in his ministrations to her sex. María was moaning now, unable to stop herself, pleasure arcing through her, making her feet twitch against the sheets. She clung to Corvo, her anchor in the storm of ecstasy he brought to her body.

“Come for me,” he growled. María was already so close; that one command sent her right over the edge. The cry seemed to tear itself from her throat as Corvo worked her up and over her peak, his eyes locked on her face as she climaxed. He continued to touch her until she squeezed her thighs together, and then he withdrew, his hand drenched with her pleasure.

“Corvo,” María whispered.

“Querida,” he murmured, and kissed her slow and sweet.

They lay together for some time, entwined and trading kisses. Eventually, María sighed.

“We should probably get up and make breakfast,” she said, a little glumly. Corvo kissed her shoulder.

“Probably,” he said, sounding equally unenthusiastic.

“Your friend has been awfully quiet,” she said.

“He might still be sleeping,” said Corvo, nuzzling at her neck. María giggled at the tickle of his beard against her skin and Corvo wrapped an arm around her. She could feel his smile.

“No, come on, we should really get up,” she protested. Corvo gave a wordless grumble of protest and kissed her jaw.

“Come on, Corvo,” she said, sitting up. He let her go with a sigh. María slid out of bed and dug in her bureau for a comfortable dress she could throw on. Corvo sat up. Dress in hand, she turned to smile at him. He was watching her with such tenderness on his face that it made her heart flutter in her chest, but then it was gone and he looked past her, his eyes sharpening.

“Do you smell coffee?” he said.

* * *

They found Sokolov in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand, scowling at them. His hair still stood out in a wild tangle, but he’d changed into the clean clothes María had left him. As predicted, they were far too big.

“Good! You’re finally done,” he said. “Where the hell are your eggs?”

Corvo looked at him sardonically. _Good morning, Corvo. Thanks for saving my life, Corvo,_ he thought. Not that he’d ever get such pleasantries from Sokolov.

“María, this is Anton Sokolov. Sokolov, María Montero,” he said.

“Good morning,” María said politely.

“Yes, hello.” The old man turned back to the coffee pot and busied himself pouring two more cups of coffee. María glanced up at Corvo; he just shrugged, rolling his eyes a little. Sokolov was always like this. She raised her eyebrows in a _well, what can you do_ sort of way and went to get a pan to heat on the range. Corvo accepted a cup of coffee from Sokolov with a nod of thanks.

“So where are we?” the old man asked.

“Campo Seta District,” Corvo said. Sokolov nodded. Corvo waited for him to ask more questions, but none were forthcoming. The old man offered María her coffee cup.

“Oh! Thank you. Just set it down there?” she said, nodding towards the counter, her hands full of a knife and some onions.

“I can cut those up,” Corvo offered. He felt like a fool, waiting around while María cooked.

“There’s nothing much else to do, cariño. Slice some bread for toast if you like,” María said, and turned her attention to her cutting board. Corvo complied, stealing glances at Sokolov.

“What?” Sokolov said.

“No more questions for me?” Corvo asked. Sokolov shrugged.

“Well, you obviously got me out of Jin – _there,”_ Sokolov said, changing what he was about to say at Corvo’s glare. “Presumably things didn’t go as planned, since we’re not back with Meagan. There are no guards about, so clearly I haven’t been recaptured. Thus, _you_ brought me here. I _was_ curious as to whether this was a safehouse or not, and your relationship to any potential proprietor, but your, hm, activities earlier cleared most of that up.” Sokolov was eyeing him speculatively; Corvo did his best to keep the annoyance from showing on his face. Honestly, the man had no _manners._

 _“_ This is Miss Montero’s house, eh? You two are involved, and we’re here to lie low. That about right?” Sokolov continued, sipping his coffee. Corvo had forgotten how fucking smart he was. Jindosh’s little machine hadn’t burned away the old philosopher’s deductive reasoning, evidently. It was damn irritating.

“About,” Corvo said. Sokolov looked smug.

“I do wonder how you met,” he said.

“María saved my life,” said Corvo.

“Really. What happened?” 

Corvo shrugged. “I was unconscious at the time.”

“You are damned impossible to talk to,” Sokolov groused. “María, what happened?”

“I’ll tell you if you put the butter and jam on the table and get us some cutlery,” she said.

So they sat down to breakfast together, and María told Sokolov about finding Corvo and bringing him home, tending his wounds and looking after him until he was well enough to leave. Sokolov said little, seemingly more interested in eating than talking, but Corvo knew he was listening to every word. By the time they’d demolished the large omelette María had made, the conversation had shifted to Meagan.

“How are we getting back to the ship?” Sokolov asked. Corvo sipped his second cup of coffee.

“We’ll meet Meagan at the docks tonight,” he said.

“Were you supposed to meet her earlier?” María asked. Corvo nodded.

“I had to miss the rendezvous. We have contingency plans in place.”

“Meet in the Campo Seta District later?” Sokolov said.

“It _is_ right in the middle of the city,” María pointed out.

“Exactly,” Corvo said, putting his hand on her thigh under the table. She smiled at him. Her hair was still loose, pouring down her back in a sable waterfall, and she wore a dark green dress that was very becoming on her. Corvo thought of her in bed earlier, remembered watching her come apart under him, and swallowed. Fuck, she was just breathtaking. But he was staring now, and Sokolov was giving him that speculative look again. Corvo turned his attention back to his coffee.

“Well, I have to work. What will you two do all day?” María said.

Sokolov bathed, then napped. Corvo did the washing up. María retreated to her workroom. Corvo found her there later and kept her company while she sewed, and if that involved a few more kisses than were strictly productive, well, that was between the two of them. For his part, Corvo simply wanted to enjoy her company while he could. The prospect of leaving María behind when he returned to Dunwall gnawed at him. What if something happened to her after he left? He might never even hear of it. She always scoffed at his concerns regarding her safety. He couldn't possibly ask her to leave her entire life behind solely on the merit of his worries, could he? But the sun shone down, and they ate a cold lunch together, and María held his hand and kissed his cheek, and Corvo pushed his fretting aside. They were together now. He could sort the rest out later.

The sun set far too quickly. Corvo and Sokolov said their thank-yous and goodbyes, (Sokolov’s terse, Corvo’s heartfelt,) and then they set off across the rooftops together. Corvo had been worried about Blinking with Sokolov in tow – he’d never brought a conscious person along before. But the old philosopher took it surprisingly well, although he did tend to stumble on arrival. Mostly he just grumbled to himself that he didn’t have a notebook with him. Their progress was slow but steady, and at last they crouched on the balcony of a boarded-up apartment, looking down at the docks. There was Meagan, just where she said she’d be.

The captain didn’t so much as twitch when Corvo and Sokolov materialized on the quay in front of her, only jerked her head at the boat and held up her hand for Sokolov to lean on as he boarded. None of them spoke until they were well away from land.

“You made it,” Meagan said at last, keeping her voice low as she piloted the skiff over the open water.

“They tried to ambush me in the Lower Aventa,” Corvo said.

“At the carriage station?” Meagan asked. Corvo nodded curtly.

“Again? Shit.” Meagan shook her head. Corvo grimaced. He’d expect no less from guards under his command, but the Karnacan Watch behaving intelligently was a huge fucking inconvenience for him right now.

“At least you’ve got your woman to go to ground with,” Sokolov said. _Damn it._ It had always been too much to hope that Sokolov would keep his mouth shut. Meagan looked at him, then at Corvo.

“Your _woman?”_ she said.

“Sure. You didn’t know? In the Campo Seta District. Good cook, nice ass – ”

 _“Sokolov,”_ Corvo snarled.

“Come now Corvo, I know you’ve noticed,” Sokolov said, unperturbed.

“Not another _word.”_

“I fucking knew it,” Meagan said. _Here it comes,_ Corvo thought.

“I _knew_ you were screwing María. You uptight little liar!” She jabbed a finger at Corvo.

“We weren’t involved when you asked, Meagan,” Corvo said.

“Oh really? When did it start, then? Last time you went over there? ‘Oh Meagan, I need to check on her, I just want to make sure she’s safe.’ I can’t believe I fucking fell for that.” Meagan shook her head. “And you’re doing this _now?_ Aren’t you a little busy?”

“Worked out pretty well for me,” Sokolov said. “Him too, by the sound of things this morning.” Corvo seriously considered throwing the old man overboard.

“Uh huh,” Meagan said. She didn’t sound impressed. “She knows you’re leaving, right?”

“Of course!” Corvo said, offended. He would _never –_

“Well, here we are,” Meagan said, cutting his rising temper off at the knees as she drew the skiff up alongside the Wale and cut the motor. “Corvo, get the aft winch hook, would you?”

* * *

Alone in his cabin at last, Corvo sat on his bed, cradling the Heart in his hands. Sokolov was doing his dirty-old-man routine, which had always annoyed him, and Meagan was terribly skeptical about María. Not that she’d betray them, but… Corvo supposed it stung so much because he’d been thinking the same things himself.

“Maybe this was all a mistake, Jessie,” he murmured. The Heart sat silent in his palms, meat and metal and bone, beating slowly. Corvo ran a gentle thumb over the crystal face.

“Am I being selfish?” He already knew the answer to that. Of course he was. He should never have kissed her that night. He should have turned around and walked out those balcony doors and never come back. Corvo was here for Emily, and Emily alone. It wasn’t fair to María to drag her into his battle with Delilah. He’d only end up hurting her, or worse, getting her hurt. What if something happened to her because of him?

“Maybe I should just leave her, Jess. Maybe I shouldn’t go back. If she gets killed because of me…” Corvo didn’t even want to think about it. The fear clawed up high in his throat, choking him.

But the thing was, Corvo didn’t _want_ to leave her. María was tough, clever, generous, and skilled. She was beautiful. Holding her in his arms felt _right_ in a way he hadn’t felt since Jessie. Sure, Corvo had taken a few lovers over the years, but never anything serious, never anything that lasted. Emily was perennially on his case, trying to get him to take a husband or wife, someone, _anyone_ to be his partner and keep him company. She picked that up as her pet project once every few years. Not that the schedule of the Lord Protector left much time for a proper marital relationship, as he always pointed out. But then Emily would tell him to retire, which Corvo adamantly refused to do.

 _What if you married María?_ that wretched little part of him whispered. _Bring her back to Dunwall, keep her safe. You could love her and you know it._ Corvo glared at nothing, furious with himself. He didn’t know what was waiting back in Dunwall. _You don’t know what’s waiting in Karnaca either, not for her._ She had a whole life in Karnaca, one he certainly couldn’t ask her to abandon. They’d hardly known each other a month! _And are you ready to walk away from her? You’ll break her heart._

Corvo scowled. María would be better off heartbroken than dead, that was for damn sure. Besides, how could Corvo even know if she reciprocated his feelings? He’d never given her cause to expect anything from him but a brief affair during his time in Karnaca… had he? She knew he was leaving. He _knew_ she knew. How dare he even presume that she might want to uproot her entire life to come with him? Leave behind everything she’d ever known to be the Lord Protector’s wife, mingle with the fucking aristocracy at the damn Tower – 

_She sees you,_ the Heart whispered unprompted. Corvo blinked at it.

“What?”

 _Don’t let go,_ she said.

“You keep saying that. What does it mean?” Corvo clutched at the Heart, bending over it, staring at the gears inside as if they might give him some clue as to Jessie’s thoughts.

 _María,_ she breathed.

“What about her? Jess?”

_Don’t let go…_

“Jess? Jessie? Talk to me, damn it. Please!” He squeezed the Heart.

_I see a mine collapsing on a dozen workers. A beggar succumbs to bloodflies. A cat sleeps upon a velvet pillow._

“Jessie!”

_Is it a curse or a blessing, to linger past your time in this world?_

_So many places I wanted to visit with you._

_Somewhere, a noblewoman is beating a servant…_

“Fuck!” Corvo squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his elbows on his knees, pressing his forehead to the Heart in his hands. Jessie was back to this, not talking to him, going around and around in circles. She’d whispered these things to him a hundred times or more since he’d come to Karnaca. Anguish was a lead weight in his chest. He missed her so much, he wanted her advice _so much,_ just to talk to her again. He’d seen her in the Void that first time, when the Outsider had given him back her Heart, but…

“It’s about María, isn’t it? What are you trying to tell me, Jessie? What do you want me to do?” Corvo asked. He squeezed the Heart, expecting more gibberish.

 _Don’t let go,_ she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this was not supposed to be its own chapter. It was supposed to be ONE SCENE but it kind of got away from me. So, I've bumped the chapter count.
> 
> I'm posting this a little early because it's a long weekend, so I'm taking the opportunity to adjust my meds, which is always... interesting. Last time I adjusted the dose on this drug, I wrote a 30k word, marginally coherent first draft of this very fic -- in 2 days. So I want you all to know, if I post one or more new chapters over Labor Day weekend and there's a spectacular dip in quality, it's because I'm high off my ass on my medication and I promise I will come back and revise/repost once I'm no longer absolutely blasted into the fifth dimension. Thanks/sorry in advance.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:  
> cariño/a = a term of endearment, can be translated based on tone/context as e.g. "dear", "darling", "baby". Literally means "affection"  
> querido/a = darling, dearest  
> mi amor = my love
> 
> I made some trivial edits to the previous chapter, idk if you folks care.
> 
> Warning for brief mentions of child death.

The Royal Conservatory was, to put it mildly, a shitshow. Corvo barely made it out alive. He was really too old to be dealing with dozens of witches and their fucking undead hounds, in his opinion. One of the dogs had gotten hold of his broken wrist and wrenched it badly before he could put the animal (back) down, and it hurt constantly now, whether he used it or not. And of course Delilah had wanted to get her two coin in practically the identical moment he’d made it back to the ship with Sokolov. Corvo wondered if anything _normal_ was ever going to happen to him again. Maybe once he got Emily out of that damned statue, she could put a frog in his bed or something. It would make a nice change.

He hadn’t seen María in nearly a week, between looking after Sokolov, dealing with the Conservatory, and recovering from dealing with the Conservatory. Corvo had spent the better part of that time grappling with his feelings for her, and trying to decide what to do next. He _missed_ her, and the hollowness of it settled under his sternum alongside the ache he felt at Emily’s absence. He thought he ought to leave María be, never darken her door again for her own safety, but he desperately didn’t want to.

His companions were no help. Sokolov clearly found the whole situation hilarious, and Meagan just shook her head whenever it came up now. She thought he was insane for dallying with anyone, and Corvo was half-inclined to agree with her. Not that he would describe his time with María as a ‘dalliance’ by any stretch, which just made it worse, really. And then there was the Heart.

Jessie hadn’t spoken to him about María since that night in his cabin, but her words went around and around in Corvo’s head. _Don’t let go._ Had it been random chance, or had she really been answering his question? Part of him hoped it was the latter. Mostly now she just whispered to him that she was tired, so tired, and pleaded with him to release her once it was over. Corvo only wished he knew how. Would destroying the Heart free her spirit? Maybe the Outsider would tell him if he begged. He’d never asked the capricious Leviathan for anything, but perhaps this once… The prospect of losing Jessamine again, even this fading little remnant – it hurt. But she was in too much pain for him to ask her to linger for the sake of his own sentimentality. Corvo had accepted her death a long time ago. Jessie deserved to rest.

The Heart had disappeared a few weeks after Emily’s coronation, and Corvo had thought that was it. He’d assumed the Outsider had returned her soul to wherever it was the dead belonged. Getting her – it – back again after all this time had been a shock, and an agonizing bit of solace as he fled the Tower and left their daughter behind. It was good to hear Jessie’s voice again. But listening to her now, the grief and exhaustion in every word she spoke, it made him so fucking _angry_ that the Outsider had kept her trapped so long past her time. Black-eyed bastard, indeed. But Corvo couldn’t deny that the Heart had been invaluable to him.

Jessamine hardly asked him for anything now, hardly told him to do anything. She mostly gave him little facts and stories, or stated her opinions. She had made only one request: to be freed from her prison of wire and flesh. And she had given him only one order: _Don’t let go._ Don’t let go of María, he thought she meant. Perhaps it was selfishness driving him to interpret her words that way. Maybe he was just using the Heart’s whispers as an excuse to see María again. He’d have to let María go eventually of course, once he left Karnaca, but for now he could keep seeing her, surely. Was that what Jessie meant? The doubts gnawed at him, but they didn’t stop him from convincing Meagan to take him back to the Campo Seta docks.

The captain piloted the skiff across the Bay in silence. Corvo couldn’t blame her. He knew she disapproved, but also that she was disinclined to bother him about it. Meagan left him at the docks with a promise to pick him up tomorrow night and an admonition not to do anything stupid. _Too late now,_ Corvo thought wryly. He made his way through the twilight, across the rooftops to María’s balcony.

She’d left the doors open, and the light streamed out. Corvo stayed outside in the shadows and watched her as she puttered around her bedroom, taking her hair out of its braid and combing it slowly. Her hips swayed as she hummed to herself, a tune he vaguely remembered from his childhood. She was here, safe and well in her own home. He could still slip away. Maybe that would be better. María stood with her back to him, rebraiding her hair. Corvo put his hand in his pocket.

 _She misses you, dear one, just as much as I do,_ the Heart whispered. _She fears for you. Will you not go to her? You’ve come this far._ Corvo swallowed. Maybe it was wrong to skulk in the shadows, watch María like some sick voyeur and consult the Heart, but… Jessie had new words for him about her. He squeezed the Heart again.

 _I know you care for her. It is like a light inside you. Why do you wish to hide it?_ Corvo throttled the impulse to start arguing with the Heart aloud. Of course he didn’t _wish_ to hide it! But – he put María in so much danger just by being here –

 _You need not be parted from her if you do not wish it. She would be safe at your side, my darling. As I was,_ said the Heart. But Jessie had _never_ been safe at his side, and he had proved it by failing her, losing her! It was all his –

 _What happened was_ not _your fault._ Her tone brought him up short. The Heart sounded more like Jessamine than it – she – ever had before: vibrant and passionate, fiercely determined, and really pissed off. She sounded… almost alive again. Alive, and giving him a piece of her mind.

 _Don’t_ _you dare_ _turn away from your happiness out of guilt, or shame, or fear!_ the Heart continued. _You deserve more than t_ _hat_ _._ It was like having Jessie in front of him again, shaking her finger in his face. Corvo could have laughed with surprise and delight, but she wasn't done yelling at him yet.

_You don’t have to leave her behind when you go. You could have something together, something real! She loves you too, Corvo!_

And in an instant, the world went still and terrible around him. There was something odd about his ribs, he thought. They fluttered strangely. María was tying up the end of her braid. There was a loose thread in his pocket, caught between his index and middle finger. His hand twitched a little.

 _She sees you for who you are, my love. Don’t let go of her._ Jessie sounded exhausted. She was so tired; had it been a long day at court? He should walk her back to her chambers… he should…

Corvo must have made some sound because María turned suddenly, and then clapped a hand over her mouth with a gasp when she saw him standing in the shadows on the balcony. The moment stretched between them, taut and endless. After an hour, or maybe a second, the fear in María’s face began to fade. A little line appeared between her brows.

“Corvo?” she said. _I’m wearing my mask,_ he thought distantly, and reached up with numb fingers to remove it. The clasps were oddly difficult to find. He fumbled.

And then María was there as if in a Blink, reaching up with those long, clever fingers to unfasten his mask and pull it away from his face. She pushed his hood back carefully, her hand lingering in his hair. She looked… worried. Why was she worried? She was staring up at him so intently.

“Corvo, what’s wrong?” María said. She took him by the elbow and pulled him forward, off the balcony and into the light, tossing his mask on the bed. Then she reached up a gentle hand to touch his cheek, and cocked her head a little to the side.

_Jessie’s blood hot on his hands, her body heavy in his arms, her head lolling towards his elbow – “Corvo, you’re the only one, you know what to do” – the light going out in those big, blue eyes. Silent. Silent. He’s trying to scream. It isn’t working. YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE HER YOU CANNOT SAVE María’s blood hot on his hands, her body heavy in his arms, her head lolling towards his elbow – “Corvo, you’re the – ”_

He grabbed María and crushed her in a hug. His heart was beating awfully fast for some reason, and he couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? It was fine, everything was fine, he just wanted to hold her, feel her warm and alive against him, and she slipped her arms around his waist carefully and hugged him back and he still couldn’t breathe and it was so, so odd.

“Cariño, you’re crying,” María said. No he wasn’t! No he wasn’t. Oh. Yes, he was.

Corvo leaned his face into her hair and his body inexplicably wept around him.

“Come on, cariño. Come on.” María backed slowly toward the bed and Corvo followed, unable to let go. She flopped them both down gracelessly on top of the covers and Corvo buried his face in her shoulder and clung to her. His whole body shook as he cried. Well, at least he was quiet about it. But the tears wouldn’t stop. It was so strange: he wasn’t even upset. It had been a brief flashback; he’d had far worse, he was sure of it.

María was stroking the back of his head. “Ssh, it’s alright, querido.” She kissed his temple. “Ssh.”

 _She loves you too, Corvo!_ the Heart had said. But no, she couldn’t, it wasn’t safe! The last person who’d loved him was Jessamine, and she – she’d _trusted_ him and he had _failed_ her –

 _Oh, damn it,_ he thought distantly. But this time he felt the clench in his belly as his sobs redoubled. He clung to María and she just lay there and let him, and ran her fingers so gently through his hair. That tender gesture was making it worse; he couldn’t stop crying. He didn’t want her to stop touching him. Corvo fought to control his breathing, but it was hard, it was _so_ hard.

“Just let it out, cariño,” María said. “It’s alright. Let it out.” She rocked him as best she could, lying under him like that, and Corvo gave in.

It took a long time for his breathing to slow, for his heart to calm, for the tears to stop coming. Corvo didn’t know how long. There was no time in that in-between, that silent place deep in the center of his bones where the rest of him was _outside_ and nothing moved, nothing at all. He’d slipped out of it slowly, bit by bit, seeping back into the world, oil dripping into water. But at last, at long last, he lay still.

“Corvo?” María said softly. He realized he was lying on her bed with his boots and coat still on. His sword was belted at his side; his bandolier must have been digging into her chest and belly the entire time. He propped himself up on his elbows, contrite.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice was faint and ragged; his wrist ached. The shoulder of her shirt was soaking wet, and her neck glistened with his tears. María kept her hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and made no move to wipe the wet away.

“It’s alright,” she said. She cupped his face between her hands and swiped her thumbs over his cheeks – drying them, he realized.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Is it Emily?” María’s voice was gentle, but there was worry in her eyes.

“No – I’m not hurt. It’s nothing like that. I – ” Corvo glanced away, groping for an explanation. His eye fell on the balcony doors, still wide open to the well-lit bedroom, putting the two of them on display for all the neighborhood to see.

“Fuck,” he said, jumping up and striding over to the balcony to shut the doors hastily. María sat up.

“What?” she asked, bemused.

“It could put you in danger if anyone sees me here,” Corvo said. He kicked himself for his carelessness. He should have shut the doors as he came in, but he’d been so shaken by the Heart’s whispers that it had slipped his mind.

“Corvo…” María stretched out a hand to him, beckoning him back to bed. He went to sit beside her. The compound lens of his mask seemed to catch the light, as though the grinning skull were winking at him where it lay on the blanket. His whole body was heavy; he felt so, so tired.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” María asked. Corvo looked at her. His eyes were scratchy; he was sure his face was red and puffy from crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wept like that. It had been years now; it must have been. There were a few locks of hair falling loose from María’s braid. One was stuck to her cheek, wet with his tears. Corvo reached up to tuck it back behind her ear.

He could put her off, of course. Refuse to talk about it, or even say it was a secret, that he couldn’t tell her because it would endanger her. That was – maybe more true than not. But she’d be upset with him, he was sure of it, and worse, she’d be scared that he was keeping something terrible from her. Corvo didn’t want to lie to her. He didn’t think he could come up with a believable lie right now in any case. He could either tell her the truth, or nothing at all.

For a moment he wondered somewhat hysterically if he should tell her about the Heart as well, and nearly started laughing. Even if María _could_ see it, what the fuck would he say? _I carry my dead lover’s heart around in my pocket, and her ghost tells me secrets. The Outsider bound her soul in gears and glass and baling wire and put her in my hands and now she cannot die…_ _She sees everything. She told me that you love me._ The truth was just too horrible. But María was rubbing his back gently and looking at him with altogether too much concern in her brown eyes. Part of the truth, then, as much as he could manage. This was going to be bad.

* * *

“They murdered Jessamine in front of me,” Corvo said. He was looking down at his hands, not at María, sitting braced on her bed with his elbows on his knees, his shoulders tense. María knew the story – the Lord Protector framed for the murder of his Empress, dragged off to – where was it? Blackstone Prison? Coldred? Something like that. And Jessamine was his daughter’s mother, wasn’t she? It was oddly easy to forget that Corvo had been lover to an Empress.

“I’m sorry,” María said. This couldn’t be all of it. The Empress had been assassinated some ten or fifteen years ago. She kept rubbing his back. His muscles were in knots. Corvo clasped his hands and leaned his forehead against them. He shut his eyes.

“I was Lord Protector. It was my job to keep her safe. That’s what I was _for._ And I failed her. I was right there, and I failed her.” His voice was dull, as though he’d repeated this litany to himself a thousand times.

“I’m sure you did everything you could,” María said, but the words felt hollow, even to her. What did she know? She wasn’t there.

“I _should_ have saved her.”

“But could you?” she asked. Corvo put his head in his hands.

“I was her bodyguard. It should have been me. If I couldn’t save her, I should have died trying,” he said.

 _What about Emily?_ María thought. She wasn’t sure if she should say it though, so she held her tongue.

“Jessie was… she was everything to me. The last person I – and I failed her. I was her Lord Protector, and she died an arm’s length away from me. I as good as killed her, María.” Finally, he looked up at her. His black eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot; he looked ten years older. Haggard. Worn. Broken. María recognized the look on his face: she’d seen it every day in the mirror for months – years – after losing another of her children.

“You didn’t kill her,” María said.

“It should have been me.” Corvo’s voice was ragged. “She _loved_ me. She _trusted_ me. Don’t you understand? _It should have been me.”_ María still wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Surely he’d had these thoughts a hundred times before. Why show up weeping on her balcony over a woman fifteen years dead? Even – well, his wife, really. It sounded like Empress Jessamine had been as good as a wife to him. But, _I killed her,_ he’d said. That was something María understood.

“Did I kill my babies by not loving them enough? They took sick; they died. I lost one to the pox, and one wasted away in my arms, and I did everything I could, and they _died._ Did I kill my husband by not saving him from his illness? It was in his lungs! The doctors couldn’t do anything. Did I kill Tomás by letting him work in the mines? He was nearly thirty; how could I stop him? Did we kill Isabel when we sent her to quarantine? Was it my fault the Abbey took Álvaro from me? Did I – ” her breath hitched: this was the hardest one – “did I kill my Nadia by letting her go out at night? I could have kept her cloistered, Corvo! She might still be alive if I did. But did I kill her?” It was a bold speech, but María couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice. _Did_ she kill Nadia? _Was_ it her fault? She told herself it wasn’t, she _knew_ it wasn’t, but sometimes…

Corvo looked at her with bottomless grief in his eyes.

“No,” he said. “The man who killed her, killed her.”

“And the men who killed Jessamine – ”

“I know.” He just looked _so_ tired.

“Corvo,” María began, but he shut his eyes for a moment, his face naked with hurt, and she stopped talking.

“The last person I loved like that was Jessie, and she died in my arms because I didn’t protect her. And, María…” He met her eyes, miserable. María waited, uncertain.

“I love you too,” Corvo said.

The words broke over her like water.

“What?” María said. And Corvo – she’d never seen him with so much expression on his face before. Usually he conveyed everything with the least little quirk of his lips and brows, but now his mouth was twisted, his eyes tight: anguished.

“I love you, and if you – ” His breath hitched and caught in his throat, and he choked on his words. _He loves me? He really loves me?_ María thought. But Corvo had found his voice again.

“I’ll fail you,” he said.

And what could María possibly say to that? She could try to deny it, but he’d simply refute her. She reached out and pulled Corvo close, his body tense and resisting, his shoulder pressed uncomfortably against her collarbone. She pressed her lips into his hair, holding his head against her, and she rocked a little.

“It’s alright,” she murmured. He just sat there. Not good enough.

“I forgive you,” María said, and meant it. All the breath went out of him at once.

“If you can’t protect me, then I forgive you,” she said. “I forgive you, Corvo.”

Corvo started to weep again, reaching out with those big hands to drag her into his lap, his whole body curled around her, desperate and shaking. But they were weary tears from someone who’d already cried himself out, and they stopped soon enough. Those damned bonecharms in his bandolier jabbed at her breast. María did her best to ignore them.

“I forgive you, querido,” she murmured, pressing her lips against the hair that fell down over his forehead. Corvo took a long, shuddering breath.

“You don’t know what they’ll do to you,” he mumbled. María didn’t try to argue with him, didn’t try to ask who ‘they’ were. She didn’t think Corvo had a real answer for her; she didn’t think it mattered.

“I know it won’t be your fault.” María hugged him tight. His heart was a frantic butterfly trapped in the cage of her hands. Fuck, he was so scared. She kissed his forehead, his eyebrow, the bridge of his nose.

“Let me up for a moment, querido,” she said, and he did. María rose and then went around the room, blowing out the candles except for the one on her bedside table. Then she returned to Corvo. He sat motionless on the bed, looking down at his hands where they lay in his lap, fingers loosely curled.

“Here, let’s get this off,” María said, slipping her fingers into the collar of his jacket. Slowly, carefully, she divested him of his coat, his bandolier, his sword belt, his waistcoat. Corvo helped a little, moving his arms and leaning as she required, but he did nothing more. María knelt to tug his boots and socks off and he lifted his feet for her one at a time. She looked up at him and he was haggard, black eyes half-blind, not really seeing her. She rose and hooked her hands under his forearms.

“Stand up,” she said, and he complied. She got his shirt off, then his trousers, and finally he stood before her in his underthings, gilded amongst the shadows by the light of a single candle. It threw his scars into stark relief, dense and craggy, crazed across the skin of his torso, arms, and thighs like cracks in a boulder. María stepped around him to pull back the covers on the bed.

“Lie down,” she told him, and again Corvo complied. She paused to pick up his mask, which was still on top of the covers, and set it on her bureau. Then she stripped out of her clothes and slid into bed beside him, pulling the blankets up to cover them both.

“Come here, querido,” María said, and Corvo rolled into her arms, pulling her close and pressing his lips against her collarbone. His heart still beat too hard, and he clung to her like she might vanish the moment he let go. She wished he would tell her what he was thinking, but he was silent, desperate, terrified.

 _I love him too, don’t I,_ she thought. It should have been a question – she’d only known Corvo a few weeks. But María felt it in her bones. Maybe she’d loved him from the moment she found him dying by the quay. Did it matter? He was here, now, in her bed, so beautiful, so scared, so infinitely precious. María leaned away from him for a moment, licking her fingers and pinching out the candle. Then she drew Corvo back against her breast in the welcoming darkness. She kissed the top of his head.

“Go to sleep, querido. I’ll be here when you wake up,” she promised. Corvo sighed, his arms tightening around her. He nuzzled against her neck. María kissed his hair again.

“Thank you,” Corvo mumbled.

He fell asleep so easily in her arms.

* * *

María woke to the smell of coffee drifting up the stairs. How long had she slept? She hoped Corvo hadn’t gone hungry on her account. Last night had been… hard. She had to check on him. María rose quickly. She tugged a shift on over her head and went downstairs, then stopped abruptly in surprise. Corvo was in the kitchen, dressed in his trousers and undershirt and bent over the sink. He had not only made coffee, she saw, but eggs and toast and fried sausage, and was in the rather clumsy process of trying to wash a pan one-handed.

“Corvo?” she said. He looked up at her and smiled.

“Hey, cariña. I was about to come get you.” Corvo looked much better this morning. His eyes were steady, his voice was calm. The smile on his face was tiny but genuine. Something uncoiled in her chest – he was alright. They could talk about it later. Right now, though…

“You made breakfast?” María said, unaccountably charmed. It wasn’t like it was hard to make toast, of all things _._ She supposed she had underestimated him.

“Breakfast is about all I _can_ make, but I do alright,” he said. María poured herself a cup of coffee and shooed Corvo away from the sink.

“You _ought_ to be resting your wrist,” she scolded.

“I can wash a pan,” he said.

“Sit!” He sat. María brought him his coffee.

“I couldn’t find the jam,” said Corvo. She fetched it (from behind the breadbox, where Sokolov had hidden it,) and sat across from him. He’d waited for her to serve himself, so they ate together. There were green onions in the eggs, and the sausage was hardly burnt. María was impressed in spite of herself.

“This is good!” she said.

“You sound surprised.” Corvo just looked amused. María blushed.

“Remind me to let you make me breakfast more often,” she said. He laughed.

“Alright.”

María refused to let him help with the washing-up on the grounds that not only was his wrist broken, but that he would probably also drop a plate, and Corvo conceded with a minimum of grumbling. His wrist really did seem to be hurting him; he tended to leave his left hand resting on the table, not moving it at all. María tried not to worry about it. When she was done she sat beside him, bumping his shoulder with hers gently, and together they nursed their second cups of coffee.

“Corvo, about last night…” María said. Corvo was silent, but she felt him tense up. “We don’t have to talk about it now.” He stared fixedly into his coffee cup. A muscle flexed in his jaw.

“I just…” María trailed off, groping for words. “I’m here, alright?” Corvo nodded, not looking at her. María leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek, trying to pour all her affection into the gesture. Corvo turned and caught her mouth with his, cupping the back of her head in his hand and kissing her deeply. When they parted, he leaned his forehead against hers, not letting her go.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” María asked.

“Yes,” Corvo said.

* * *

It had been easy to get up when Corvo woke up with María beside him, snoring her soft little snores. It had been easy to flee downstairs, easy to decide to do something kind for her. It had been far easier than staying there beside her and watching her sleep would have been. Corvo felt it was necessary that he think as little as possible, that he simply act. If he could just keep moving long enough, put enough distance between himself and last night and the things the Heart had told him (don’t think about it _don’t think about it)_ then it would be alright. Soon enough the pain and the fear would get bored and lie back down again and let him be, if only he could leave them far enough behind. If only María would let him.

But that was a worry for later. Right now she stood in front of him, kissing him hungrily and slipping her fingers under his shirt, her body liquid fire in his arms. Her lips tasted of coffee. Corvo never wanted to let her go. María started to pull his shirt off and Corvo finished the job. She pushed gently against his chest and he let her knock him back onto the bed, tumbling down amongst the pillows as she watched, her brown eyes heated. She stripped off her shift in one easy motion, and climbed up to straddle him where he lay.

Corvo would never get tired of looking at her. The curve of her belly, the shape of her breasts, those wide, brown nipples taut from his caresses, the thatch of black hair nestled between her thighs. She opened his trousers with clever fingers and pulled him free of them, rising up on her knees to help him shuck them off. His dick flopped against his belly, only half-hard. María undid her braid, and when her hair swung loose around her in a soft curtain, she bent to wrap first her hand and then her mouth around his shaft. Watching her suck him was ruinously arousing, the way she took him so deep, the sparkle in her eyes when she looked up and saw him watching. Corvo moaned, and when she met his eyes he moaned again, instantly hard and aching for her. María smiled and released him, sidling up and settling herself in his lap, taking him in hand once more.

“We said I’d be on top this time,” she murmured.

“Don’t you want – ?” he tried to ask, but María rose over him and then plunged down in one smooth motion, seating him deep in her velvet heat. Corvo gasped.

“I missed you so much, cariño,” she murmured, rocking her hips slowly against him. The late morning sun painted her body with streaks of gold, and Corvo was helpless beneath her. He wrapped his good hand around her thigh and hung on as her head dropped back, her eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. He could _feel_ her swelling around him, growing tighter and wetter the longer she held him inside her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed.

“Mi cariño,” María murmured, bending to kiss him tenderly. Her hair tumbled down around them. She stroked his cheek with gentle fingers.

“Mi amor,” she said, but she didn’t give him time to think about it, didn’t give him time to react, just pushed herself up again and really started to move.

The pleasure was intense and immediate. Corvo panted as she rode him, rising to meet her on each downthrust, and she cried out as they found the right angle together. She started to come apart on top of him and Corvo wasn’t far behind – she was so hot, so tightly wrapped around him, and the slickness of her pleasure gleamed on his shaft as she rose up and plunged back down. He pushed her hand away when she reached down to touch herself, wetting his own fingers in his mouth and then reaching out to stroke between her folds.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Just like that – _Corvo – ”_ Her moans came thick and fast now, and Corvo was making a few noises of his own, feeling her grow tighter around him as her pleasure built, and built… Finally she came, the cry of pleasure seemingly torn from her throat as she clenched down on his dick, and Corvo thrust up into her, chasing his own climax. It hit him hard, leaving him half-blind and gasping as she flexed and spasmed around him, milking him for every drop of seed.

They came down together, Corvo slowly growing soft inside María as she lay on his chest, panting. Eventually she slid off him, settling into the cradle of his arm and planting a soft kiss on his shoulder. He felt comfortable, sated, a little sleepy, content to let himself drift as he held her close. María stroked his chest idly, her fingertips seeming to vanish at odd moments when they slipped over scars where he had no sensation.

“A coin for your thoughts?” María said. Corvo didn’t want to think, not really. She was so warm and soft against him, and he was so glad to be with her.

“A coin for yours?” he replied. María’s sigh ruffled his chest hair.

“Are you sure?” she asked. Corvo laughed a little.

“Are you thinking something terrible?”

“No… But…” She trailed off. Corvo gave her a squeeze.

“Just say it.”

“I don’t want to upset you,” María told him. What was the worst thing she could possibly say? Corvo kissed her forehead.

“Tell me,” he said.

There was a small silence. Her heart fluttered anxiously. Corvo waited.

“It’s a pity we can’t go out,” María said. “The flower stalls at the Dockmarket are beautiful, and we could pick up something nice for dinner.” Corvo blinked, looking down at her in confusion and seeing nothing but hair.

“That’s… not what you were going to say.”

María hid her face against his neck. “I changed my mind,” she mumbled. Corvo couldn’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed.

“Just tell me, cariña,” he said. He felt her bite her lip.

“What happened last night?” María asked, her voice small. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You scared me.” Corvo sighed. Telling her about the Heart was not an option. He was going to have to lie.

“I was just… thinking. I saw you and it all hit me at once. I’m sorry. It’s not usually like that.” In fact, Corvo couldn’t remember the last time things had been that bad. It had been years, certainly. He’d always been alone during the worst moments, the times when things went silent and he could hardly move or speak. Corvo had spent many a long night alone in his chambers in the Tower, mute and terrified, fighting his way through the memories. But things had improved steadily over the years, and one day he’d noticed that it hardly ever happened anymore.

“I didn’t mean for you to see,” he said.

“Are you alright now?” María asked. _No,_ he thought.

“I will be.”

“Will it happen again?” _Undoubtedly, cariña._

“It might. It always passes.”

“Next time, how do I help you?” María said. _Just leave me alone ‘til it’s over,_ he thought, but he knew she wouldn’t accept that. Corvo lifted his head a little, nuzzling at her until she turned her face up to let him kiss her forehead.

“You did good this time, querida,” he murmured. She looked up at him.

“Really?” she said. Her eyes were full of affection and concern. Corvo couldn’t bear it.

“Really,” he said, and shut his eyes, and kissed her.

* * *

Lunch was a late and lazy affair, and afterwards María closed the shutters and she and Corvo returned to bed. They rested through the heat of the afternoon, dozing and talking. She wanted to press him for more answers about the night before, but there was something fragile and scared in his eyes, and it shied away from her whenever she got near the subject, so she let it be. She’d come so close to telling him she loved him that morning. It was probably for the best that she’d decided against it. María didn’t want to upset him again. He’d been in such a state last night, silent and shaking and exhausted with fear. She remembered that nightmare she’d woken him from all those weeks ago when he’d first come to stay with her, the way he’d cried out in his sleep, the terror on his face. Where had he gone in that dream? Had he gone back there last night? She would never ask.

Corvo left her at nightfall with a long, clinging kiss, promising to do his damnedest to come back to her. María didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know when he’d be back, didn’t know if she’d ever see him again. Would she ever get the chance to tell him she loved him? Someday soon he was going to tell her that he was leaving Karnaca for good – or worse, he would promise to come back one night and then simply disappear. She didn’t want to think about it. She thought about it constantly.

But she didn’t have much time to mope around the house. Two days later, the Overseers came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corvo can have a lot of my PTSD symptoms. As a treat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is violent. You've been warned.
> 
> Starting now, I'm not gonna bother with providing translations unless I use a Spanish word that hasn't appeared in the fic before. I hope you all know what "Sra." stands for at this point.
> 
> I have taken some really spectacular liberties with the layout of the Overseer base in the Dust District, for reasons of epic drama. The building here is more along the lines of the High Overseer's Offices back in Dunwall. It's my story and I'll make shit up if I want to

María was in her kitchen, finishing the after-dinner washing up and trying not to worry about Corvo, when a knock came at the door. Not the normal tap of a neighbor, or the firm rap of the Watch making rounds, but a heavy, terrible pounding, like someone wanted to break her door down with his fist. María grabbed a knife off the sideboard, tucked it into the folds of her apron, and went to stand by the door.

“Who is it?” she called.

“María Montero?” The man’s voice was businesslike, threatening.

“Yes,” she said.

“Open up.”

“Who is it?” she said again.

“Don’t make us break down the door, ma’am.”

María opened the door a crack, wide-eyed, her knife clutched in one sweating hand. That was a mistake. Three Overseers crowded through, shoving her aside as they entered, one with a strange contraption strapped to his chest. María had never seen one before, but it was bulky, and played odd music as he turned a crank on one side. She looked between the men, her stomach sinking.

“What’s this about?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too shrill and frightened.

“We’ve had reports of witchcraft at this address,” the first Overseer said. He gripped her arm in one hard hand and dragged her into the kitchen with him. “Have you seen a man in a death’s head mask?”

* * *

The Batista had been a mess. Corvo had heard people talk about it, but the reality was far worse than what he’d imagined. It really was the Dust District now. Maybe handing the Vice Overseer over to Paolo hadn’t been the best choice, but he _really_ hated the Abbey, and Slackjaw had always done alright by him… It was probably unseemly for a Lord Protector to prefer organized crime to the Abbey of the Everyman. What could he say? Fascism had never sat well with him, religious or otherwise. As for Stilton, well. Corvo had resolved to think about that as little as possible, which was going pretty well so far.

He was back on María’s balcony, mask in hand, three days after he’d left her. He knew she was probably fine, but he’d had a bad feeling about things in the Campo Seta ever since that neighbor of hers had started making threats, and he just wanted to see her. Just to make sure she was alright, he told himself. Just to check. Corvo opened the balcony doors, trying not to fret. The sight that greeted him turned his blood to ice in his veins.

María’s bedroom had been tossed. Her things were scattered everywhere, the mattress torn open with a knife, down all over the floor. Corvo’s sword was in his hand without conscious thought, his vision going sepia as he scanned the building with his Dark Sight. He was alone. María wasn’t here. What had happened? Where the hell had she gone? He searched the house methodically, finding little besides broken knickknacks and overturned furniture.

There was blood on the kitchen floor. Corvo stared at it for a long moment, one numb hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, the color leaching back into his vision as the Dark Sight dissipated. All the drawers and cabinets had been opened, their contents strewn around the room. There was a shattered crock on the floor by the sink. The faucet dripped slowly. Corvo felt cold, strangely detached from himself. There wasn’t enough blood, he thought. She couldn’t have died here. It might not even be hers – he had no way of knowing.

The front door opened.

Corvo moved faster than thought, Blinking behind the intruder, slamming the door and pinning them in a chokehold all in one motion. A woman gagged under his arm – not María, too slim – and he looked down at a pinstriped dress and a head of golden hair.

“Who are you?” he demanded, loosening his grip on her neck.

“P-Pilar Montoya,” the woman panted, terrified.

“You,” Corvo said. This was María’s nosy neighbor, here in the flesh – to what? Snoop? Steal? Admire her handiwork? He’d bet anything that this woman was the reason María had vanished.

“Where did they take her?” Corvo asked her. His voice was surprisingly calm.

“T-take who?” Pilar stammered.

“Answer me!” Corvo tightened his grip on her throat for a moment, and she struggled weakly. When he let up again, she heaved for air.

“You’re that man,” she said hoarsely. “The witch! I saw you, oh,” she coughed, “I saw!”

“Who did you tell?” Corvo demanded, his stomach sinking.

“The Abbey’s always glad to hear about witches like you!” The woman seemed to have found a burst of courage somewhere, or maybe it was just the lack of oxygen. Hard to say. “They’ll _deal_ with you, just like they _dealt_ with her! Your little – ”

Corvo wasn’t interested in whatever epithet Pilar found foul enough for her neighbor and favorite seamstress. He choked her until she went limp, then dumped her on the kitchen floor, not bothering to be gentle. So, the Abbey had María. Was it payback for his work on Vice Overseer Byrne? That was a definite possibility, if they’d traced Corvo to her. The timing was certainly worrisome.

He looked down at the unconscious woman at his feet. He could kill her now, he thought coolly. Normally such a thing would never have occurred to him, killing a helpless civilian in cold blood, but tonight? If María was hurt, or worse… His sword was still in his hand. It might look bad to leave a dead neighbor on María’s kitchen floor, though. He couldn’t imagine she’d thank him for it. Not that she was going to be able to come back home at all – the Abbey never let anyone go. She would have to flee the city, or better yet, leave Serkonos entirely. She’d never be safe here again.

Corvo prodded at the stillness inside himself. He felt much too calm and dispassionate, standing here, weighing his options. Was it shock? Did it matter? Calm was good. Now wasn’t really the time to ponder his own mental state, anyway. If the Abbey had María, that meant she was probably in the holding cells at their headquarters in the Batista District. It was theoretically possible that María was locked up at their outpost nearby, but Corvo doubted it – if they’d connected her with him, they would never leave her there. Their central offices were the best place to start looking.

Meagan had mentioned an errand; he suspected she was making a run to the black market shop near the docks. If he was quick he could catch her before she left. If he missed her, he’d steal a boat. That was the fastest way back across the water.

Corvo took the stairs two at a time.

* * *

The best case scenario, Corvo thought, was that he’d make it in and out again with María completely undetected. The worst case scenario would see her dead by sunrise. He’d die before he let that happen. If they’d hurt her, if they’d done _anything_ to her, he’d – his wrist twinged sharply as he clenched his fist. Corvo forced himself to take a few deep breaths. He needed to keep it together.

Corvo was crouched on the balcony of an abandoned apartment, looking across the street into the windows at the back of the Dust District Abbey offices. These were their headquarters in Karnaca; he’d kidnapped Byrne from this very building not two days ago. And now he was back to get someone else out of there, albeit for very different reasons. Miserable bastards. Corvo _really_ hated the Abbey. But enough pondering; it was time to move.

Corvo was across the street and slipping through a second-floor window in two Blinks, calling up his Dark Sight the moment his feet touched the carpet. He was alone for the moment; Corvo padded down the hallway, sword in hand. He heard footsteps on the stairs and pressed himself against the wall.

“ – last night, and one the night before. Turn up anything good yet?” Corvo could see two Overseers through the wall, limned with gold in his Dark Sight.

“Beats me, brother. I just do what I’m told.”

“You reckon that witch’ll come back?” They were heading away from him. Good.

“Shit, I hope not. My throat still hurts.”

“I’d like another crack at him, myself.” Corvo wondered if it would have been better if he’d simply killed every man in the building the last time he was here. He had hoped to draw as little attention to himself as possible at the time, insofar as one could kidnap the Vice Overseer without drawing attention, but that seemed to have backfired. He didn’t like to spill blood needlessly, but if it could have kept María safe…

A door opened, then closed. The stairs were clear. Corvo slipped noiselessly down them, keeping low behind the balustrade. It wasn’t much in the way of cover, but it would make him harder to see, he hoped. He suspected the holding cells were in the basement; if he was lucky, this stairwell would take him all the way down. Not that he’d ever been a particularly lucky man.

“Hey!” _Fuck._ The long hallway gave a clear view of the stairwell from some distance away, and an unfortunately observant (but thankfully solitary) Overseer had spotted him.

“Brothers!” the man shouted. Corvo vaulted over the railing, loosing a sleep dart while he was still in midair. The Overseer dropped like a stone. It was tempting to simply kill him, but Corvo was still hoping to avoid detection. Leaving blood all over the carpet would certainly give him away. The idiot had called for backup before Corvo had taken him down, though – he would have to move fast. His Dark Sight revealed a small supply closet just down the hallway. It would make an excellent hiding place for a body.

Corvo made it just in time.

“Brother? Did someone call?”

“Cole should be here. I’m sure I heard him.”

Corvo stood with his back pressed against a shelf, the unconscious Overseer in front of him, dangling over his good arm. It was more of a broom closet than anything else, at least where floor space was concerned. There wasn’t room to lay the man down without opening the door, and Corvo didn’t dare move. His Dark Sight picked out two more men in the hallway – no, three, damn it, there was another coming around the corner.

“Did you hear something?” he asked.

“Someone called – ”

“Hey, where’s Brother Cole?” The new Overseer was looking around, perplexed.

“ _You’re_ the one who’s supposed to be patrolling with him.”

“I had to use the, erm, the necessary!”

“We’re meant to move in pairs _all the time,_ numbnuts. Don’t you ever follow orders?”

“We should search for him. Hey!” One of the Overseers was waving.

“What is it?” Two _more_ of them came down the hall from the opposite direction. Corvo swore creatively under his breath.

“Have you fellows seen Cole?” The two latest additions glanced at each other.

“No. Why?”

“He’s missing.”

“He probably just went to the toilet,” Cole’s erstwhile companion protested.

“You shut up. You’re in enough trouble as it is, Lucian. Split up, search the ground floor. We need to find Cole, _now.”_

“You’re all paranoid,” Lucian complained.

“Weren’t you _here_ the other day when that fucking witch got in and took Byrne? Laid out half the damn building to do it!”

“He can’t be such an idiot that he’d come _back._ ”

“It takes one to know one, asshole. Now start looking!”

* * *

“So, you’ve had some time to think things over, Sra. Montero. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?”

María looked the Overseer over silently. He’d never given her his name – none of them had. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been here. They’d dragged her from her house and taken her straight across the water. She’d spent the night – she thought – alone in the pitch dark of a windowless cell, without food or water. Eventually this one had come, with a few of his cronies; they’d asked her questions, and then fed her and locked her up again. Her cheekbone throbbed where one of them had hit her. They’d shown her a torture chamber and warned her things would get worse if she continued to deny them. And now they were back, three men crowding into her little cell, masked and inscrutable. The light coming in from the doorway hurt her eyes. María was hungry and exhausted. She’d done her best to sleep, but the floor was hard and cold and she was terrified. _Corvo was right,_ she kept thinking to herself. She had scoffed at him and now…

“It’ll be much easier for you if you just tell us what you know,” the lead Overseer said. The other two hung back, not speaking.

“I’ve already told you everything,” she said. Her throat was dry. She’d been doing her best not to cry: they gave her so little water that tears would be an egregious waste. But she was so afraid.

“You claim that you’ve never seen a masked man, that the stranger you rescued left your home a few days later and never returned, and that the reports of a mysterious figure appearing and disappearing from your home as if by magic are pure fabrication. Do I have that right?” His voice was heavy with skepticism. _You’re the one who questioned me earlier, you bastard. You ought to know,_ María thought.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yet you attacked the good men of the Abbey who met you at your home. Surely, as a pious and law-abiding citizen, you have nothing to fear from an Overseer.”

María just glared at him. They’d tried to force her from her home; they were breaking her things. They’d hurt her. Of course she’d fucking fought back. She hoped she’d hit a kidney when she stabbed the sonofabitch who’d grabbed her. The Overseer sighed.

“Sra. Montero, I will ask you one last time. Have you seen a man in a metal death’s-head mask?”

“No,” María said. Her voice only shook a little.

He backhanded her across the face. María went down hard, her ears ringing. Hands clamped around her arms, dragging her to her feet, and she stumbled, still half-blinded by the blow. They hauled her out of her cell into the hallway. The lead Overseer was talking, she realized.

“ – help you, Sra. Montero. We’ve given you ample chances to cooperate. It’s unfortunate that you’ve forced us to this point, but alas, needs must.”

She was back in that room again. There was a rack in the corner. A cage, a long table. Two chairs. A brazier filled with glowing coals. Her breath came shallow and fast, and her heart was falling down, down into the bottomless pit where her stomach should have been. The two men gripping her arms were far too strong for her to fight.

“Put her there,” their leader said, gesturing to one of the chairs. There were heavy straps on its arms and legs, she saw suddenly, to hold a person down. They were going to put her there, right _there, no no no no –_ She dug her heels in as best she could, thrashing. The men holding her hardly seemed to notice; they simply dragged her. Their leader picked up a pair of pliers, turning them over in his hands idly.

“You can’t _do_ this! I don’t know anything! _Let me go!”_ María yelled.

“Restrain her, brothers,” he said.

* * *

They were searching the hallway, door by door. Corvo could see them in his Dark Sight. Five against one were not ideal odds, not if he wanted to keep the fight bloodless. He could stop time briefly, but it wouldn’t be long enough to knock them all out – he was going to have to kill no matter what. He’d be on borrowed time after that; he’d have to find María before the bodies were discovered. It was possible they’d skip the closet he hid in – maybe he’d get lucky for once. Corvo waited. The name-caller was checking the room next door. Not long now. After a cursory look around, the Overseer came to stand in front of the closet door, just an arm’s length away. The golden silhouette seemed to be looking Corvo in the eye. The Overseer grabbed the doorknob and pulled.

Corvo put a crossbow bolt through his throat. Blood sprayed across his coat and the man collapsed with a gurgle. Corvo dropped the unconscious Overseer on top of the dead one and Blinked across the hall.

“Brother Lester? _Les_ _ter_ _!”_ Another one, shouting at his fallen comrade, down the hall to Corvo’s left. Two more crossbow bolts to the chest, and the Overseer went down. Three to go. They were converging on him. He spun the sword over his fingers, shifting his grip as he holstered his crossbow. The Mark burned hot under his skin. His wrist throbbed; Corvo ignored it and readied his Blink.

The fight was fast and ugly. There were few swordsmen who could really go blade to blade with Corvo, certainly none among the Overseers. Add to that his magic and it was unfair, really. Corvo didn’t give a fuck. Were these the men who’d taken María? Did they know where she was being held? He slashed one across the belly, another the throat, and he ran the last one through in one fluid thrust, painting the length of his sword scarlet with the dying man’s heart’s-blood as he slid off the blade. The one with the belly cut was still breathing, half-curled up on the floor and holding his guts in with his hands. Corvo kicked him onto his back carelessly. The man grunted in pain.

“Tell me where she is and I’ll make it quick,” Corvo said.

“Who?” the dying Overseer croaked. Corvo braced his foot on the man’s throat and watched him struggle and wheeze for a moment.

“You brought in a woman from the Campo Seta District, yesterday or the day before. _Where is she?”_

“I didn’t – I work in Records! I – ” The man gagged as Corvo reapplied the pressure.

“Got any _records_ of new prisoners?” he demanded.

“I – I heard there was someone the witch knew, in the lockup – ”

“Where?”

“Downstairs! I don’t know! I’ve never been there!” So Corvo had been right about the holding cells.

“Good enough,” he growled, and crushed the Overseer’s windpipe with a stomp of his foot.

Corvo was on the clock now: it was only a matter of time before someone discovered the bodies. Hiding them would do little good; he’d spilled too much blood for that. A cursory search of the bodies with his Dark Sight revealed nothing useful. Corvo ran for the stairwell, not staying to watch the man asphyxiating on the floor behind him.

* * *

María had stopped praying the day the Abbey took her son, but she found herself considering it now. Her nameless interrogator stood at the long table in front of her, picking through the implements of torture he’d laid out. He held each item up to the light, one by one, giving her an excellent view as he turned them over in his hands: pliers, needles, tongs, a skinning knife, a coil of wire, a razor blade, an awl, a hammer. He was waiting for her to break, she realized, waiting for her to tell him everything before he even had to lay a finger on her. She wondered how many people were broken this way, using only their fear.

Not that she wasn’t afraid. María was terrified. He was going to hurt her in ways she hadn’t thought of yet, she was certain. He would never be so careless as to kill her. How long would she live down here, suffering? What would they do to her? What would she end up telling them?

María hated this man, and the entire Abbey, with every fiber of her being. She had no words to describe the rage and loathing that burned in her breast. These monsters had taken her little boy from her. Had her Álvaro ever walked these halls? Had he ever entered this room? Had he seen the inside of one of those lightless cells? Had he passed through here and survived? Had he gone in and never left again?

And what about Corvo? María couldn’t help but picture him bursting through the door at any moment, dispatching the Overseers in the room and kneeling before her to undo her restraints and help her up from that _fucking_ chair. She didn’t want to think of it. She didn’t want to hope. As far as she knew, Corvo had no idea where she was. He might even be dead. She couldn’t count on him for rescue. Even if he could come, he might be captured or killed by the Abbey while attempting to free her, and that was simply beyond bearing.

María had no one but herself now, and nothing to hold onto but her fear, and rage, and spite. Yes, she thought, spite would do nicely. These Abbey men wanted one thing from her: information about Corvo. She hadn’t been able to keep her son from them all those years ago, but she could damn well keep Corvo from them now, and that was exactly what she was going to do. It was a poor way to get her own back, but it was a hell of a lot better than giving in.

She had no idea how long she’d be able to hold out. Until they killed her, maybe. That would be best, but the prospect of being tortured to death filled her with dread. María couldn’t think about that now; she just had to hang on as long as possible. The more time she could give Corvo, the better off he’d be. She thought of Emily, and her resolve hardened. That was what mattered: Corvo’s chance to save his daughter. Her own suffering was nothing in comparison.

The interrogator turned, holding up the needles for her to see. “Are you _sure_ you have nothing to tell us?” he said, his voice gentle. María shuddered. Nothing for it now – she had no choice but to stick to her story.

“I don’t know anything! I don’t know what you want! Please!” she begged. He just sighed.

“Very well, then.” He dragged the other chair – one with no restraints on it, she saw – over to sit in front of her and settled himself comfortably, then reached for her hand. María clenched her eyes shut, fighting a losing battle not to cry. _Corvo, Corvo, please –_

The blare of the alarm bell was so loud and unexpected that for a moment, María took it for pain. She jerked in her restraints, her heart leaping into her throat. There was a sudden scraping noise; she opened her eyes and her interrogator was on his feet.

“Brothers, with me! Bring her!” He threw the needles carelessly on the table behind him and strode from the room. Then his two lackeys were beside her again, unbinding her from the chair, and María was almost glad to see them. They hauled her to her feet, hands cruelly hard as they gripped her.

“What’s happening?” she asked. Her voice shook. They didn’t answer, just dragged her towards the door in silence.

* * *

They’d set the alarm off sooner than he’d hoped. Corvo hadn’t had enough rewire kits on him to disable them all; he’d dealt with the one closest to his little pile of corpses, but kept his only other in reserve in case he ran across a Wall of Light or something. He’d made it down the stairs to find a thick metal door that presumably lead to the basement, tightly locked with no key in sight, because of course he had to do everything the hard way. There was another stairwell on the other side of the building according to the map he found. So off he went, cat-quiet on the carpet. He was nearly there when the alarm sounded.

Corvo Blinked on top of a bookshelf, cursing silently. It had always been too much to hope that he’d make it through without being noticed. This was going to bring every Overseer in HQ down on his head. Corvo would gladly slaughter them all if it meant saving María, but in a pitched battle it would be only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed. There were simply too many of them for him to fight, magic or no. He was good, but hardly invincible.

But the Overseers didn’t attack him. They didn’t search the halls for him, either. Corvo waited a few minutes and saw no one. It was bizarre. He Blinked his way down the hall, using his Dark Sight to scan for any approaching men. At last he found some – running for the front door?

“Is it him?” one panted.

“We don’t know!”

“Come on, brothers!”

 _What the fuck?_ Corvo thought. The first floor at least seemed empty – he could slip down to the basement now, search the holding cells. But he had a bad feeling. Corvo waited for the stragglers to clear out, then flitted down towards the door, and peered out.

The entire personnel of their headquarters seemed to be gathered in the courtyard, all clustered around the gallows. A hundred men, maybe – far too many to fight. There were several people standing on the gibbet’s raised platform. Two of them forced another of their number to their knees as he watched. Corvo could make out two Overseers wearing those fucking music boxes; a third had a gun to the kneeling figure’s head.

“Get the floodlights!” someone yelled.

“Play, you idiots!” another man snapped.

And the music was ice down his spine as the lights came on, illuminating the courtyard mercilessly. Corvo flicked through the lenses on his mask for a better view, and his breath seized up in his chest at what he saw. The kneeling figure was María. _She’s alive. Oh, thank the fucking Outsider._ She stared fixedly at the platform she knelt on, her arms wrapped around her middle, her hair a thick curtain hiding her face. She was wearing her green dress; Corvo could see blood on her apron.

“Witch!” the Overseer with the gun bellowed. He tapped the muzzle of his pistol against María’s skull. She didn’t flinch, but she did seem to shrink in on herself a little.

“We know you’re here!” The man addressed the courtyard at large. “Surrender yourself, and she won’t be harmed!” It was such an obvious lie. The Abbey never let anyone go. What would they do if Corvo were to give himself up? Torture María in front of him, probably, if not worse. It would be far more effective than hurting _him_ would be. Corvo ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking fast.

“Witch?! Where are you?” The Overseer cocked his gun. There was no telling how long he’d be willing to keep up this pantomime; he might well conclude that María was a dead end and simply shoot her. It wasn’t a bad plan, Corvo had to admit: gather all the Overseers together where it would be impossible for him to separate them, put their most valuable personnel at the center of the crowd, play their damned music. But they’d miscalculated when they took María. These men had no idea what he was really capable of.

“You want to watch your whore die, is that it?” the Overseer demanded. Corvo moved away from the door, back down the hall, breaking into a run as soon as he was around the corner. He had to get out of earshot of those music boxes. Almost – _almost_ – and then the Void energy came boiling down his arm, lighting up the Mark in an instant, and Corvo didn’t pause. This was going to take all the magic he had, and it was going to be close. He flexed his hand. Time stopped around him. Corvo turned on his heel and sprinted back the way he’d come.

One Blink over the crowd, up onto the platform. Corvo slid to his knees and dropped a springrazor beside María, then pulled her to him, carrying her bridal-style despite the throbbing in his broken wrist as he hooked his arm under her knees. She took a shocked breath as he gathered her against his chest, his touch drawing her down with him into his strange colorless untime. Corvo gestured. Another Blink back across the crowd; a third up onto the awning above the door. He heaved them both through a second story window just as the color came back into the world, clamping a hand over María’s mouth as he landed. He couldn’t risk her screaming now. But she was utterly still under him, her brown eyes huge with shock. Outside, the Overseers were back in time too.

“Witch!”

“What the – ”

_BANG._

Then, screaming. Corvo gave them a generous ninety seconds of chaos before the surviving Overseers started searching the building and grounds for him. María’s lips moved silently against his palm. _Corvo?_

He got to his feet, offering her a hand as he rose, then hauling her upright. María clutched at him but Corvo shook her off, needing his hand free to dig in his bandolier for a remedy, which he tossed back in a single swallow. The magic thrummed through him, radiating out from his belly along every vein. Not as much power as he wanted, but it would do.

“Corvo?” María whispered.

“Not now. Come on.” He didn’t wait to see if she nodded; he just grabbed her hand and ran. Corvo forced himself to move slowly at first, giving her a chance to keep pace with him, but María ran with the speed of the terrified and she kept up fairly well. She probably wouldn’t be able to sustain it for long, but that didn’t matter – they were nearly at the back of the building.

“Witch!”

Corvo skidded to a halt, María grabbing his elbow when she nearly tripped over him. There were two masked Overseers at the other end of the hall, swords and pistols drawn. One stepped forward; the other froze. Corvo cursed himself: he should have used his Dark Sight, but he was short of magic, trying to save it all for Blinks, and it hadn’t seemed important – until now. He’d thought they were all in the courtyard. Clearly, they’d left a few patrols behind in the building. Corvo drew his sword.

“Cover me!” the foremost Overseer said, raising his gun.

The other one slammed the hilt of his sword down on the back of his Brother’s head. He dropped his blade as the Overseer in front of him crumpled, then knelt to place his pistol on the floor. Corvo stared.

“Go now,” the strange man said. María’s hands clamped around Corvo’s arm, her grip tight enough to be painful.

“Who are you?” she said.

“You can’t _be_ here. Go _now!”_

“Wait!” María cried. Corvo wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tight against him, listening to the conversation with half an ear as he searched for a sightline that would get them out of the building.

 _“_ _Please_ , mamá,” the Overseer begged. María choked. Corvo had a clear view of a streetlamp that should do. If he was quick enough, he could get María across the street before she fell. The Mark was hot under his skin.

“Álvaro?” María whispered.

Corvo Blinked them through the window and away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how many people you can kill and still get the Low Chaos trophy...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes:  
> Querido/a = a common salutation at the beginning of a letter, just like "Dear" is in English

María started fighting him the moment she had solid ground beneath her feet again. The streetlamp had been a dodgy half-second, but Corvo had Blinked them back into the abandoned apartment he’d used on his way in before she had time to do more than gasp.

“No! _Álvaro!”_ María shoved Corvo away and scrambled out onto the balcony. Corvo had to grab her and physically drag her back inside, clamping a hand back over her mouth before she started to yell. María struggled in his grip, trying to stomp on his foot as Corvo held her, but his boots were heavy enough that it didn’t do much.

“You _have_ to be quiet,” Corvo hissed. “We have to get out of here fast. Do you understand? If they find us…” He didn’t think he needed to elaborate. María shuddered in his grip, trying to speak.

“Just keep your voice down,” he said, and took his hand off her mouth.

“Take me back,” she begged, near tears.

“No! Come on, we have to go.” María shook herself out of Corvo’s grip and turned to face him. Her face was bruised, he realized – a big one on her cheek, and a smaller one on her temple that was just starting to come up. She was _furious._

“That’s my _son,_ Corvo!” María whispered, making it sound like a scream.

“It doesn’t matter. If we go back in there, we’ll both die.”

“But – ”

“I’m not arguing about this now! We need to get back to the docks. _Come on.”_ There was blood on María’s skirt. Her hands were balled into fists.

“Please, Corvo!”

 _“They will kill you!”_ Corvo grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, _needing_ her to understand.

“Don’t shake me, damn it!” María knocked his hands away.

“We don’t have time for this,” Corvo said. He was going to have to force her, wasn’t he? Damn it. Void fucking _damn_ it all, he didn’t want to hurt her.

“I just want – ”

“Fan out! Search the area!” Corvo and María both started a little at the sound of yelling from the street below. _Fuck,_ Corvo thought passionately.

“Let’s _move_ ,” he whispered. María looked up at him wide-eyed and nodded silently. Corvo could be relieved later; right now, there was no time. He grabbed her hand and led her deeper into the empty apartment building. There was a window at the other end that would let them out onto a duct, and from there they could Blink up onto the rooftops. He had one remedy left. That would just have to be enough.

María took to his Blinks better than he’d anticipated. She stumbled and cursed under her breath when they made it up onto the roof, but she found her footing quickly on the uneven roofing tiles and things went better after that. She kept low, moving when he did. Corvo knew she was probably being as quiet as she could, but her footfalls were still far too loud for his liking.

They made it out of the Overseers’ search radius fairly quickly. There was one tense moment, hiding behind a chimney and waiting for a few of them to pass, but the biggest delay was that Corvo had to pace himself now to avoid exhausting his magic. He was down to the last dregs of it by the time they got to the docks.

“You made it,” Meagan said, her voice low.

“Let’s go,” said Corvo, and Meagan started the skiff’s engine without another word. Corvo offered María a hand as she stepped into the boat, but she brushed right past him and settled herself gracefully enough. None of them spoke on the ride back to the ship. Corvo kept his hand on his sword hilt, a ridiculous gesture maybe, but the tension in him didn’t begin to abate until all three of them were aboard the Wale.

It was strange to see María here. Corvo had tried to keep her out out of his campaign against Delilah, and the Dreadful Wale was the center of it. She looked out of place in her dress and apron. But here she was, alive and breathing, leaning on the rail. Corvo took off his mask. Something was unspooling in his chest. It would hit him soon; it always did. He looked down at himself. There was blood on his coat, his trousers, and his hands. He was exhausted.

“Corvo. _Corvo.”_ He blinked.

“Are you hurt?” Meagan asked. She sounded like she was repeating herself.

“No,” Corvo said. Wait, was he? Adrenaline could be a hell of a drug. He moved experimentally, his arms, his shoulders, twisting a little at the waist. No significant pain besides his fucking wrist, which throbbed.

“I’m fine,” Corvo said. “María, are you alright?” She nodded jerkily.

“You both look terrible. You should get some sleep,” Meagan said. Right. Sleep.

“Let’s debrief in the morning. I’m going to bed too. Night,” the captain said, and vanished below with a nod at Corvo. María swayed a little, clutching at the gunwale. She looked dead on her feet. Corvo held out a hand to her and she took it silently.

“Come on,” Corvo said.

It wasn’t until he got her into his cabin and actually looked at his tiny bunk that it occurred to him that maybe she ought to take Hypatia’s old cabin, but María didn’t say anything – just took off her apron and sat down hard on the mattress and put her head in her hands. Corvo wanted to hug her, but he thought he should probably at least wash his hands first, so he did, and stripped off his bloody clothes, and then sat down beside her in his shorts and an undershirt. He put his arm around her. She was trembling a little. Corvo sympathized. His calm hadn’t cracked yet; having María to take care of helped.

“Let’s get some sleep, cariña. We’re safe here. It’s over,” he said. María took a shuddering breath.

“I can’t believe you came,” she said. Corvo’s heart hurt.

“Of course I came!” He hugged her tight. “Of _course_ I came.” María nodded and looked at him with bloodshot eyes.

“You saved me. Thank you,” she said. Corvo shook his head.

“It was all my fault in the first place. Don’t thank me,” he said. María just sighed.

“Oh, I’m too tired to fight about it now,” she said, rubbing her forehead with one hand. “You’re right. Let’s sleep.” She started unbuttoning the front of her dress, then got up and shucked it off, leaving only her shift. There were more bruises on her arms. Corvo felt a little _thump_ of his heart in his throat.

“Lie down. I’ll get the light,” he said.

It was a tight fit on Corvo’s bunk, and there was a little bit of thrashing, but eventually they settled down together in the dark with María more or less on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest. Corvo didn’t care. At least this way he knew she was still breathing. If he’d put her in the other cabin he probably would have ended up sleeping on her floor, he reflected. María was dozing off already, and Corvo was starting to relax. Of course, that just meant that all the fear he’d felt that night finally had an opportunity to make itself known.

She was asleep by the time the shakes started. Corvo gritted his teeth and waited them out, hoping he didn’t wake her. He’d nearly lost María. He had come _so close._ That Overseer in the courtyard not two hours ago with his gun to her head… The bruises on her. What had they done to her? He hadn’t asked – there hadn’t been time. Had she been tortured? Raped? Corvo had no way of knowing. How long had they had her? Had they come the night he left? The idea that he’d simply abandoned her to them was unbearable.

But that was exactly what he’d done, of course. This was all his fault. Corvo should never have gone back to her house. He should never have stayed there. He was the one who’d caught the attention of her neighbors, he was the one who’d brought the Abbey down on her. He’d been seen coming and going, and María had paid the price.

She ought to blame him. She’d be crazy not to. She was going to have to leave Karnaca, whether she stayed with Corvo or not. It would be best if she left Serkonos entirely. Her house, all her things, gone because of him. He’d taken everything she had because he was selfish and stupid and hadn’t wanted to stop seeing her. And was it worth it? Was it _fucking_ worth it? He’d known the risks and he’d kept coming back anyway. He’d barely managed to save her this time. Next time, he might not be fast enough.

If María was smart – and she _was_ – she would leave him. Corvo had put her in enough danger already. She should book passage north on another ship, leave him behind in Karnaca, and never see him again. How much money did he have on the Wale? He’d give it to her – he owed her that much at least. Would it be enough to let her start a new life somewhere safer? She shouldn’t go to Gristol, not with Delilah on the throne. Tyvia or Morley would be better. Hopefully she’d still be willing to listen to him in the morning. He would try to talk to her about it.

Fuck, he didn’t want to lose her. But she would be so angry at him once she’d slept and eaten and had time to think about what he’d done. Maybe she was already angry. She’d been so withdrawn and rattled. He’d manhandled her too, hadn’t he? Had he hurt her? He didn’t _think_ he’d left those bruises on her arms, but it was possible. He knew he was strong enough.

 _I f_ _orced_ _her away from her only surviving son,_ he thought suddenly. He hadn’t been thinking about it at the time – all he’d cared about was getting her out of there safely. But she’d begged him to wait, and he’d literally dragged her away.

‘Don’t let go,’ Jessie had said. But where had it gotten him? And where had it gotten María? She didn’t deserve any of this. Corvo was a selfish fool, and Jessie – she’d – but it wasn’t her fault he’d made his fucking mistakes. The Outsider’s smug voice flashed through his mind – _You’ve lost another empress._ And nearly another lover, now. What good was he, really? As a Royal Protector, as a lover, as a father? He brought so much harm to the women in his life. Jessie, dead. Emily, in Delilah’s clutches. And María… He was back to that question again: _what had they done to her?_

María sighed in her sleep, shifting a little and snuggling against him. Corvo wrapped his arm around her waist. His throat was tight; his eyes prickled. At least she was alive. She was here for now. Even after she left him, he could take comfort in the knowledge that she was safer without him. She hadn’t died in his arms like Jessie had. He’d had the magic this time, and it had carried the day. María was safe for now, thanks to the Outsider.

Corvo drifted slowly, painfully off to sleep, and dreamed of impossible knots and running a labyrinth forever under the gaze of mocking black eyes.

* * *

María woke up in Corvo’s arms. Watery sunlight drifted in through a high little porthole into the room. There was a desk, a sink, a glass case with odd bric-a-brac in it. A trunk on the floor. María was _fucking starving._ She sat up, and Corvo’s eyes opened.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, cariño,” said María. His face fell a little.

“How are you?” he asked.

 _“Hungry,”_ she said. Corvo nodded and swung himself out of bed with a grunt. They rose together and María picked her discarded dress off the floor and held it up. It was filthy, she saw – she’d worn it for two solid days, most of that time spent in the Abbey’s prison. The hem was stained and the skirt was streaked with dirt and worse. She didn’t care. She put it on. Corvo had yanked on a clean pair of trousers – the ones she’d altered for him, she saw. María brushed past him and out into the hall.

“Sokolov,” she said, surprised. There the old man was, sitting at a table with Meagan – oh! They were eating breakfast. Thank goodness.

“María, you’ve finally joined us on the Wale,” Sokolov said by way of greeting. Meagan jerked her head in a beckoning sort of way, and María went to sit beside her. She was handed a plate, and then there was dried fruit and cheese and bread and tea and fried fish, and she was almost too hungry to bother with a fork and knife. Corvo joined them at the table more sedately, but María was engrossed in her food.

“When did you last eat?” Meagan asked.

“I’m not sure,” María said. She took a sip of her tea, then a mouthful when she found it not too hot. “There’s no light in those fucking cells. It might have been a day? I don’t know.” The bite of fish she took was far too big to be polite, but she didn’t give a shit.

“So Corvo, what happened?” Meagan said.

“Got in, found María, got out,” Corvo replied.

“That easy, huh?” Meagan said drily.

“No. They implemented some new security measures after Byrne. Moving in pairs; new lockdown protocol. I almost got caught. Had to kill a few of them.”

“Define ‘a few’.”

“At least five,” Corvo said.

“How do you not know how many men you killed?” Sokolov asked.

“I had to drop a springrazor. Didn’t stay to watch it go off,” Corvo said tersely. María’s fish was gone; she started on some bread and cheese and apricots. _Fuck_ , she was hungry.

“This can’t have been just bad luck. You take Byrne, and then three days later, the Overseers take _her?_ Did they know Corvo was staying with you, María?” Meagan said. María nodded, her mouth full.

“They asked about me?” Corvo said, his voice low and worried. María swallowed.

“They didn’t know your name, but they knew the mask. They asked about that,” she said.

“What did you tell them?” Meagan asked. María looked at her, offended.

“Nothing!” she said.

“Really?”

“They asked if I’d ever seen a man in a death’s-head mask, and I said no.”

“How long did they have you?” Corvo asked. He’d hardly touched his food, María noticed.

“I don’t know. What day is it?”

“Sunday,” Sokolov supplied.

“They took me Friday night,” María said.

“So a night and a day then,” said Meagan.

“Did they hurt you?” Corvo said.

“Of course they hurt her. Don’t you see the bruises?” said Sokolov. Corvo rounded on him.

“Damn it, that’s not – ” he began.

“Hey!” Meagan snapped. “Don’t you two start.” Corvo glared; Sokolov sipped his tea. María waited until she was sure they were done arguing before speaking again.

“They hit me. Roughed me up some.” María touched her face with ginger fingers. “They were going to… do more last night, but there was an alarm at the last second. Did you set it off? How did you know?” She looked at Corvo. His black eyes were fathomless, his face tight, his hand clenched around his cup.

“I didn’t,” he said. “The Overseers set it off.”

“Sounds like it worked out alright,” Meagan said. María ate another apricot. Meagan had said something earlier, something odd…

“Who’s Byrne?” María asked. Meagan looked at Corvo. Sokolov looked at Corvo. Corvo looked at María like he was never going to see her again. María waited, confused and increasingly worried as the silence dragged on.

“The Vice Overseer,” Corvo said finally. María blinked.

“Meagan said you _took_ him?”

“I kidnapped him. Turned him over to the Howlers.” Corvo met her eyes like it was a punishment.

“The _Howlers? Why?”_

“It’s… complicated.” María waited, but Corvo didn’t elaborate. She stared at him in silence. He looked worn, scared and sorry. Something was fitting itself together in her mind, and she didn’t much like it.

“When?” she said. Corvo took a deep, painful breath.

“Five days ago,” he said.

María stood up. She couldn’t look at him, not at any of them. She needed a minute. She _needed_ to think. No one spoke as she left. No one tried to stop her. Maria headed up on deck alone. She leaned on the rail and looked out at the water.

The midmorning sun hung steady and golden, painting its long trail across the waves of the Bay. Gulls called to each other. María smelled dead fish and the sea. The bell of a buoy clanged in the distance; the breeze ran its fingers through her hair.

Corvo had kidnapped the Vice Overseer and given – or, more likely, sold – him to the Howlers. Two days later the Abbey had come for her, asking questions about a man who wore that mask. It was _not possible_ that it was a coincidence. The Overseers had been in the process of trashing her house when they dragged her away. What had they done to her things? Did she even have a home to go back to? Could she go back there at all? Or would they be waiting for her?

Everything she had was in that house, her whole life, every gift her husband and children had ever given her. She’d birthed her babies in that house, conceived them in that bed. Her husband, her father, and the two babes she’d lost had all died there. All her sewing equipment, her entire livelihood – it was all back there. She was never going to finish Sra. Garcia’s latest batch of mending, was she?

Corvo had said – he had _told her_ it wasn’t safe for him to stay with her. He’d warned her that he was putting her in danger. Why hadn’t she listened? How could she have been so stupid? And why the _fuck_ had he kept coming back if it was such a risk to her? How could he? How _dare_ he? Corvo said he loved her, and then brought the fucking Abbey down on her head. And now they were after her, and she couldn’t go home, and she couldn’t do anything to fix it, and she couldn’t – she’d never –

Her son was alive. Álvaro was _alive._ She’d known it the moment she heard his voice. He sounded so much like his father – she’d bet anything he looked just like Antonio too, a giant of a man with floppy brown curls and the nicest smile. He’d be thirty-two now, nearly thirty-three. And _they_ had him. He was a fucking Overseer! One of the men who was tasked with hunting Corvo down – and now María, too.

Her son was alive, and he’d begged her to leave him behind. Begged! She would gladly have given her life for an hour with him. Why hadn’t Corvo brought him with them? Why hadn’t he given her one more minute? She just wanted to see her boy’s face, hold him in her arms, she would do anything, _anything –_

María realized she was crying. The silent, shuddering tears turned to wracking sobs the moment she put her face in her hands. It seemed pointless to stand so she slid to her knees, leaning her forehead against the gunwale. She’d lost her home, her work, and likely her only chance of ever seeing her son again, all because she was having an affair with a man who’d done something insane and dragged her into the crossfire. It wasn’t even her fight! What the hell did she care for the Imperial succession? But her life was collateral damage in Corvo Attano’s little war, all because she’d been stupid enough to sleep with him.

“María?” It was Corvo. She hadn’t even heard him approach. María didn’t look at him. He sat down beside her with a grunt, leaning his back against the gunwale. Why was he here? What the fuck did he want from her now?

“I’m sorry,” Corvo said. “I know that isn’t worth anything, but I am. I’m _so sorry.”_ He rubbed his face with a weary hand. “I want to help you however I can. I owe you that, at least.”

“I don’t want your money,” she said. Her voice shook. “I _want_ my home. I want my _son.”_

“I’m sorry,” Corvo said again. María gave a bitter little laugh into her hands.

“You were right, you know. You warned me. I should have listened. You did put me in danger. I _didn’t_ know what they would do to me. And it _was_ your fault.” Finally, she looked at him. Corvo sat with his knees drawn up, one hand over his eyes. He was turned a little away from her, his shoulders tight and defensive. His mouth was a thin, hard line. He breathed silently, evenly – deliberately. She could see his jaw clench.

“How dare you,” María said. “How _dare_ you keep coming back to me? You knew all along you’d get me hurt. Why would you do it? _Why_ would you drag me into this? What the fuck gave you the right?” But Corvo didn’t answer; he didn’t move at all. His nostrils flared as he breathed.

“You get to go back to your daughter, but you took away my chance to spend a moment with my only surviving son! You didn’t listen to me. You could have brought him with us, you could have waited. You bastard. You _bastard!_

“Did I ever even mean anything to you? Was I just _convenient?_ They were going to torture me! They almost killed me! And now they’re after me and I can never go home again, I’ve lost _everything_ , all so you could get your fucking dick wet?

“Last night I was terrified; I was _praying_ you’d come for me. And then I get back here and find out it really _was_ all your fault in the first place. You deliberately provoked the Abbey! Did you know what would happen? Did you even _think_ about the consequences?

“I was so afraid they’d kill me before I got the chance to tell you I loved you. But it turns out _you_ were the one who put me in that fucking cell to begin with. I never should have kissed you. I wish you’d left and never come back.”

Silence fell between them like a boulder: massive, opaque, immovable. Corvo still wouldn’t look at her. There was nothing but the slap of the waves, the clang of a distant buoy bell, the gulls calling to each other on the wind. María stood too quickly, her knees protesting; she had to catch herself on the railing against a sudden rush of lightheadedness. She didn’t want to be out here with him anymore. She needed some privacy, some time, and a door she could fucking close. So she went below again to look for Meagan, pressing her lips together hard to hold back the tears that shuddered in her throat.

* * *

It was dusk when María finally emerged from her bare, new cabin. There was almost nothing to wear on the Dreadful Wale that fit her besides the dress she’d been arrested in, but Sokolov had returned to her the clothes of Antonio’s that she’d leant him, so María wore those for now. She’d wash her dress in the morning. She was too tired to do laundry tonight.

There was no one about belowdecks. Sokolov had retired to his room, and Corvo was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was childish to avoid him, but María was glad anyway. She’d spent the day thinking and crying, trying to come to terms with the knowledge that she had to leave Karnaca for her own safety. It was a terrifying prospect – she had literally nothing but the clothes on her back. Corvo said he wanted to help her. He _certainly_ owed her, but how far would that help extend? How much did he really have to give? And where on earth would she _go?_ But María was tired of going in circles around those questions. She ate some bread, some cheese, some prunes, drank some water, and wandered up on deck.

She almost didn’t see Meagan at first. The captain stood in the dark, leaning on the rail and smoking a cigarette. María padded over to her. Meagan nodded, then offered her a smoke and a light in silence. María accepted gratefully. The tobacco was a balm to her shattered nerves. She leaned on the rail beside Meagan and looked out across the Bay.

Karnaca shone in the gathering dusk. The last fingers of the sunset painted the mountainside orange and gold, and the city below was alive with light. The water murmured and hushed and slapped its hands against the hull. Maria smoked her cigarette and watched the peak of the mountain fade into darkness until it was little more than a starless triangle of sky.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Meagan said. María nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The cherry of her cigarette was down to her fingers. Meagan offered her another and María took it, lighting it off her spent cigarette and then flicking the butt into the water.

“It’s not safe for you to go back,” Meagan said.

“I know,” said María. Her voice was stronger than she’d expected.

“What will you do?” Meagan asked.

“I don’t know. I could book passage on another ship, I suppose, if…”

“Corvo will give you the money,” Meagan said firmly.

“I’m not sure it would be safe for me to go back, even for that long,” María said.

“It wouldn’t, but we could drop you in Sagunto or something later.”

“How long ‘til then?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully soon. It depends on what Corvo finds at the palace.”

“The Duke’s palace?” María asked, surprised. Meagan nodded.

“He’s going tomorrow night,” the captain said. María shook her head. If it hadn’t been the Abbey, it would have been the Watch in the end, after Corvo finished with whatever lunacy he had planned with the Duke. His recklessness was astounding.

“You’re welcome to stay on the Wale awhile. I’ll be taking Corvo back to Dunwall once this is over. You can come, if you want. I wouldn’t recommend staying in Dunwall with him, though. That might be hazardous for your health,” Meagan said.

“Thank you,” María said softly.

“I need to make a supply run tomorrow. I’ll pick you up some secondhand clothes, if I can find them. Is there anything else you need?”

“Sewing supplies?” María said. “Needles, thread, and scissors? I can do any alterations you need; if you bring me fabric, I can make something for you. It won’t be as fast without my sewing machine, but I can run up whatever you like.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Meagan said. “I’ll bring you what I can find.”

“I can take over cooking for the ship. I’ll earn my keep on board,” María said.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Meagan.

“You’re doing most of the cooking, aren’t you? One-handed? That must be a damn nuisance,” María said. Meagan gave a side-to-side nod: _I guess so._

“Let me cook. I’m staying on your ship – it’s the least I can do.” That, and she _hated_ being idle. Left to herself with nothing to do, she’d think herself into knots. She was so angry at Corvo, and so _fucking_ scared, and she just –

“Alright,” said Meagan.

“Oh, thank goodness,” María said. Meagan laughed a little.

“Bored already?” she asked.

“No. I just need something to occupy myself or I’ll go crazy. I can’t – this – everything is just…” María trailed off.

“I’m scared,” she said finally.

“Listen… I’m not defending Corvo. I didn’t think he should have gotten involved with you in the first place, honestly. But he didn’t know this would happen. He never meant for you to get hurt,” Meagan said.

“He brought the Abbey down on me, whether he _meant_ to or not,” said María. Meagan nodded.

“Like I said, I’m not defending him. But he really does care about you. I just thought you should know.”

“How much did you hear this morning?” María asked, her lips twisting in some bitter facsimile of a smile.

“Enough. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but this old tub isn’t soundproof.” Meagan rapped her knuckles on the gunwale. María shrugged a shoulder.

“It’s fine.” She took a long drag on her cigarette.

“He was ready to die trying to get you out of there,” Meagan said quietly.

“Much good may it do me now,” María said.

“Fair enough,” said Meagan.

* * *

María didn’t sleep well, and she woke up lonely. The impulse to cross the hall and throw herself into Corvo’s arms was a thread tugging on her heart. She wanted him to comfort her; she refused to ever speak to him again after what he’d put her through. He was the closest thing she had to a friend now and it was all his _fucking_ fault.

So she dressed in Antonio’s clothes again, and made porridge and tea, and ate. Corvo wouldn’t meet her eyes. She ignored him and did the washing up. Then she did laundry on deck – her dress, some things of Meagan’s, some of Sokolov’s clothes. She hung everything over the gunwales to dry and then went belowdecks and made fish and fry bread, and ate, and did the washing up, and then scrubbed down the counters and the kitchen floor because she had nothing else to do and if she sat still for too long she would lose her mind. Corvo trained with his sword and exercised on deck; she ignored him resolutely and brought in the washing. Meagan brought her new clothes, some scissors, a packet of needles, and far more thread than she could possibly use; María thanked her profusely, then made soup for dinner to go with the rest of the fry bread.

“You should bring her on as the ship’s cook full-time,” Sokolov told Meagan, slurping his chowder enthusiastically.

“What, just for me?” Meagan said drily.

“For the both of us!” said Sokolov. María ate instead of thinking. Corvo did not appear until she was safely in the kitchen, washing dishes.

“You ready?” María heard him ask.

“Let’s go,” Meagan said. Footsteps on the stairs. A door closing. Quiet. She grabbed the soup pot and scrubbed it much harder than she needed to. She heard the groan of the winch as Meagan lowered the skiff into the water. Corvo would be fine. He’d come back. He always came back – unlike María. She’d never go home again.

Corvo and Meagan were long gone by the time María went back to her cabin. There was a folded piece of paper lying on her bunk. A note? She unfolded it carefully.

_Querida María,_

_I am so sorry. I know what it is to have your life uprooted and destroyed in an instant. I know what it means to lose everything. It was done to me, and now I’ve done it to you. I can never make this up to you. I’ll never be able to make it right. I’ve harmed you irreparably, and I am sorry._

_I want you to know that you were never just a convenience to me. I don’t know how to tell you how much I’ve come to care for you. I know that doesn’t matter now, but it’s the truth. I love you, María. This was never about getting something from you._

_It was selfish of me to keep seeing you. You’re right. I should never have done what I did. It was a huge mistake to put you in danger. I put my own feelings ahead of your welfare, and you’re the one who paid the price. I was wrong to do that. I’d hoped that I was worrying over nothing the whole time, and that no harm would come to you because of me, but that was careless and stupid of me. I should have been smarter and stronger for your sake._

_I’ll help you however I can, now, if you’ll let me. I’ve left all the money I have in a pouch on my desk; please, take it. Meagan will take you wherever you need to go after this, whether or not I return. If I do make it back to the Wale and things go well in the future, I’ll have the resources of the Lord Protector and Imperial Spymaster at my disposal. I can get you whatever you need then – I can even help you find your son._

_I wish we could have stayed to speak to him. I wish I could have given you more time. It didn’t occur to me to bring him with us; it was so dangerous in there, and I was only thinking about keeping you safe. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you._

_I understand if you never want to see me or speak to me again. You’re right to leave me; I’m a dangerous person to be around, especially right now. I’ll never be able to guarantee your safety. If I were less selfish, I would have realized that from the start._

_You deserve better than this. I owe you your whole life, now. I can’t restore what I took from you. I wish I could. Whatever I can give you will never be enough, but I’ll give you everything I can regardless. I’m sorry, María. I’m a burden you should never have had to bear._

_Maybe I’m being selfish again by writing this letter, but I’m going after the Duke tonight, and I don’t know what’s going to happen. I wanted to apologize as best I could before I left. If I live through all this, I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life trying to make things right with you in any way I can. I know that won’t be possible, but you deserve my best efforts, regardless._

_I love you so much. I’m so sorry for everything._

_Yours,_

_Corvo_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF.
> 
> I realize this is probably terrible timing, but here we are. I am doing [Whumptober 2020](https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/post/628055505485561856/whumptober-2020-updated) and I am not gonna have time to fill 31 prompts AND work on this, so I'm putting this fic on a temporary hiatus until November. I might update during October, but no promises. My Whumptober work will come in the form of a big DH1 fic, if that helps at all.
> 
> See you on the flip side!


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